


Troublemaker

by rollipoli



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha Sherlock Holmes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Apologies, BAMF John, Bill Murray is low key MVP, It takes a while for Sherlock to show up, John-centric, M/M, Made up legal stuff, Many people are gross to John in this fic, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega John, Picture everyone a little bit younger, Poor John, Timeline What Timeline, timeline is different
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-11-15 23:02:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18082625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rollipoli/pseuds/rollipoli
Summary: “Afternoon, pretty,” the stranger cut in, though he didn’t even look up from his phone.The gears of John’s brain were fighting any effort to move. Was it afternoon? How’d he been asleep that long? He frantically tried to recall how he’d gotten here but nothing after his check in with Harry and her friend midway through the bar crawl last night was coming up-The set up for this fic is directly cribbed from MaryLouLeach's lovely work, The Trust, where omega ownership involves legal paperwork, and Harry's gambling lets John fall, drugged, into another alpha's hands while he is home on leave. Also, alphas get a portion of their omega's pay. I took that all from the set up of The Trust, they are not my original ideas, but the possibilities have been burning in my head for a while. After that I went off the rails, and this fic is not a sequel in any way. Thank you to MaryLouLeach for writing a wonderful story!





	1. The Pub Crawl

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Trust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/967579) by [MaryLouLeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryLouLeach/pseuds/MaryLouLeach). 



John groaned as he woke up. No more pub crawls, they weren’t bloody worth it. He was still exhausted, and neither body nor mind wanted to embrace the day. How late was it? Could he justify a lie in? He cracked an eye. Not Harry’s flat, or Bill’s. Too nice. Must’ve slept in his clothes, on some private’s floor, then. Celebrating the first night of leave was often like this but it was a bit embarrassing he hadn’t made it home. Not that Harry would get too worked up. He was on the verge of realizing something when he heard footsteps. 

John got out a mumbled, “Sorry mate,” as he tried to orient himself. The footsteps belonged to an alpha, posh, like the flat, with light blond hair and John didn’t recognize him. Must be a friend of a friend. “Thanks’ for letting me crash, I’ll be getting out of your hair now,” John said, voice still a little slurred with sleep as he made to sit up. God, he felt terrible. Like he was moving through syrup and sore as hell. Well he had slept on a hard, stone floor. It took him longer than it should have to realize his limbs were restrained. 

“Oi, that’s not on-” 

“Afternoon, pretty,” the stranger cut in, though he didn’t even look up from his phone. 

The gears of John’s brain were fighting any effort to move. Was it afternoon? How’d he been asleep that long? He frantically tried to recall how he’d gotten here but nothing after his check in with Harry and her friend midway through the bar crawl last night was coming up-

“The sedative was a little heavy, I know. But better safe than sorry.”

“Who are you? Where-”

“My name is Victor. Don’t you remember Harry introducing me at the pub last night, John? You’re here, in my flat, because your sister was in a spot of trouble. But don’t get upset, you’ve gone and mopped up her mess. She owed me quite a lot of money, but mentioned she was the legal alpha of an unbonded omega and aren’t you just the tastiest thing?” 

“The hell are you on about?”

“Oh, I like your dirty mouth. We’ll have to see what other uses we can put it to,” he said, dropping papers onto John’s chest. 

John’s stomach may as well have turned to stone like the floor.

They were his omega rights. And on the middle of the page was a line with Harry’s signature next to what could only be Victor’s. John felt the groan escape him, more that he heard it. She couldn’t- she wouldn’t-

Victor scooped the papers off John. “Submitted a copy to the registry’s office this morning. Should be getting my confirmation email any time now,” he wiggled his phone and strolled over to a safe in the corner, opening it for John to see. “Heard you have a bit of a behavior problem, which I like, but I’ve got your things right here, lover. If you want to be good, I’ll let you use them again.” He dropped John’s papers on the safe shelf. Below it, John could see his own rucksack and laptop. Victor closed the safe door with a thunk.

Fuck. Fuck! How could she do this!? No- she’d promised- dammit, she had the alpha portion of his pay for debts, what the hell had she been thinking? John put his full strength against his restraints now, testing their hold on all four limbs. This was not good. The bindings were secure and anchored to the floor. John kept his voice level, but he was calculating, slowly, thanks to whatever they drugged him with, “How long are you planning to keep me like this?” 

The smile Victor gave him was predatory. “Until you’ve accepted your new position. I hear you’ve had free reign till now, and tend to get a bit rough with alphas,” the idea seemed to stir Victor, who was emanating scents of lust and possessiveness while he moved closer to John, “but I like my face the way it is.” 

John glowered at him. “Oh, you’ll learn to appreciate it well enough, too, Watson,” the alpha looked smug, “I love a defiant omega. And I knew your face was good from her pictures, but that scent is just treacherous. Puts me over the edge. I was dying to get my hands on you at the pub last night…” Victor had dropped to one knee and was groping him now, as if to demonstrate.

“Get off me!”

John flailed but the alpha laughed at him “Fuck, you’re going to smell incredible when I bond you.”

“You can’t bond me, I’m not in heat!”

“All in good time. I’m still tracking down something to lift these crazy suppressants you’re on. I do know a good chemist, but he hates me. Still, worth a shot.” The man began texting, presumably the chemist, his phone close to his face.

John hated the sound of that. “You won’t be able to lift them. They’re military grade, and I still have months before I need a new shot.”

“That’s right, she mentioned the military. I’ll have to fix that,” Victor said, rising to his feet and pulling up something else on his phone.

“Fix?” John’s brain felt thick as tar. He blinked up at the alpha a moment before realizing what he meant. “No…please, no, not my job. You’d get to keep the pension, please.” He wasn’t ashamed to beg. His work was everything. All he truly took pride in and that meant using any means available to prevent what this man was suggesting. 

Victor just snorted. “I don’t care about your pension. What good is that if I can’t have you here when I want you? And it wouldn’t make a dent next to what my trust fund pays out. Congratulations, by the way, you just graduated to the ranks of the gainfully unemployed.”

“No, seriously, can you please just wait? You don’t even know me, you might not want to keep me, but I won’t be able to reenlist if you take me out!”

“Oh, I’ll definitely want to keep you soldier, don’t fret about that.” He continued typing on his phone, filling out the information. 

“No! Please don’t do this! It’s the only thing I’m asking for. I’m an officer, I want my job. Please, please you can do anything else, bond me, breed me, whatever you want I don’t care, but please don’t make me retire!” 

But the foul fuck wasn’t listening. He was filling out the online withdrawal request. John pulled like mad against his bindings, probably damaging muscle in the process, but they wouldn’t give. Victor didn’t seem to register that if John weren’t tied up right then, he would be pummeling him into a coma.

“There you go! That’s submitted. How shall we celebrate? I’ve got a few things here to get a good party started.”

John just stared at him numbly. It could not be that easy. There was no possible way. All the years of study and training and work. The literal blood and sweat. There was no way it could be over. Over for nothing. It wasn’t. John simply refused. There was something he could do, he just needed to find out what it was. It must take time for the request to officially process and there had to be a work around. He would find it. It was called a ‘request’ for god’s sake, why call it that if there was no way to deny it? There would be something, he was sure. As he made up his mind, he realized peripherally that the alpha was doing something at the bar, but John really couldn’t give a flying fuck what it was.

Then Victor turned back to face him, movements disjointed, and grinned stupidly at John. He was high. That was great. Just perfect. Who wants the RAMC when you could have a motherfucking cokehead of your very own? John felt slightly hysterical. How had he let it come to this? He didn’t even know what Victor was loaded on and didn’t bother to ask. Victor stumbled over to him, eventually crawling, before tucking his face into the crook of John’s neck and inhaling deeply. (Tragically the angle didn’t give John any leverage to cause him pain).

“You do smell so fucking good. You’d smell even better, so much stronger, off those suppressants though.” Victor was cuddled up against John now, an arm draped over his chest and one leg nestled between John’s forcibly splayed ones. “But this will work for tonight.”

A hot spear of panic lanced John’s spine, but blessedly it seemed Victor was content to use him as a masturbatory tool for now. That or the drugs had made the alpha too uncoordinated for anything more vile. John turned his head away from the man, unfortunately exposing more of his own neck and focused on a painting of ships on the wall. Victor rutted up against John’s hip, eventually working his cock out of his trousers to stroke himself, all the while smelling and licking and sucking John’s neck.

John may as well have been a blowup doll, or a piece of furniture. Not that he wasn’t very glad Victor hadn’t made a move to undress him. But it felt so dehumanizing, degrading, worse than basic training had ever been. He sighed. Damn. This was bad. Even if he could save his career, he was in for a lifetime of Victor. John steeled himself. None of that. Self-pity wasn’t going to do anything for him in this mess. If he was stuck with Victor, then he would truly need the army. Deployments would be his only refuge and, well, a lifetime with Victor might not be especially long if he stayed a soldier. 

Victor worked himself into a frenzy with the aid of John’s body and after what felt like a long time, gasped, spilling out onto John’s clothes. Victor slumped against him, dead weight. 

John jerked his body to toss the man away only to find that between the drugs and the orgasm, Victor had been thrown from the confines of consciousness. John felt a good way to test the depth of his slumber was venting his own frustration in a fit of shouted obscenities. It felt good and left him breathing hard. Victor hadn’t stirred. John took a deep breath. He was still so angry, but that wasn’t important right now. He needed to think of a way out of here.


	2. The Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes a plan.

Finding the razor blade on Victor’s inert form ranked as one of the happiest discoveries of John’s life. Victor had used it to cut the drugs, and if he hadn’t been the source of misery to begin with, John could have kissed him for it. It took ages to work the razor into a usable place with John’s limited range of motion, but it wasn’t like he had any other options available. That spurred his pig-headed problem solving effectively.

It was late that night when John was finally free of the restraints, and Victor was still out cold. John ached and hadn’t eaten in nearly 24 hours so felt no guilt gorging himself on what food he could find and pocketing some money as well. He trusted the trust fund could bear the blow. After all, this was just Victor providing for him just like a proper alpha should. John laughed aloud at the idea. The fucker. His own money, and everything else important was in the safe, and though he’d ransacked the apartment for a code there’d been nothing. Victor’s phone and computer were password protected as well, and John’s highest priority was researching the withdrawal request. Which meant he needed to be well out of this place come daylight. 

However, that was still hours away and John couldn’t chance sleep, so he made a pot of the overpriced coffee in the cabinet and quietly killed time. He took a hot shower, tried to ignore the hickies on his neck, and cleaned Victor’s cum off his clothes, as best he could. That left him feeling more normal. Then John collected supplies, planed his contacts, and penned a letter to his new alpha. 

By the time he was done it was wasn’t quite yet dawn. John reviewed his supplies. They included the money, a pen and note pad, an itemized list of everything of his he could remember being in the safe, a piece of mail with Victor’s full name and address on it, which John had checked against the ID in Victor’s wallet, some granola bars and bottled water from the pantry, ibuprofen, disinfectant, replacement bandages for the ones currently covering his wrists and ankles, his very best friend, the razor blade, now cleaned, and a courier bag he found in the closet to carry everything.

That was well enough to be getting on with, and John decided it was time to get moving. Knowing Victor’s address didn’t give him much sense of where he was without a map and he needed to get oriented in the city to plan his next move. John pulled on his coat, threw the bag over his shoulder, and dropped the folded letter on Victor’s chest. After all, John would have to see the alpha again, and frankly he couldn’t resist—strictly speaking, it wasn’t a very polite missive.

On the street John relished the cool early morning air. He wandered for a bit before coming across a wayfinding sign, which told him he was klicks away from Harry or Bill’s apartments. It also showed a nearby library, which would serve him fine.

∙ ∙ ∙

He called Harry first. He wanted her side of the story in case Victor had lied or there was anything that would help his appeal.

“Ullo?” She answered.

“Harry, it’s John.” He was proud for not shouting ‘how could you do this,’ though he badly wanted to.

“Oh, god, John!” Her voice wobbled with despair and drink. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I- I can’t.”

“No! Harry, don’t-” But the line was already dead. 

He tried her three more times, with no answer. Typical. Oh Harry, he sighed and cradled the phone to his chest, fighting back a well of emotion. A horrible part of him was glad she was hiding. He almost couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her face to face right now. He could do it once he’d gotten everything worked out. He shook his head sadly but shoved it down. He was on a time limit. Next up was Bill. 

“Hello?”

“Bill, thank god you answered, it’s John.”

“Fucking hell John, you had me in a right state, slagging off from the pub crawl like that. Couldn’t have dropped a line yesterday morning, when I was nearly having heart failure over your dumb arse?”

“No, I couldn’t.” John filled Bill in on the events of the last day and a half. The information sobered him. 

“Christ, John.”

“I know, it’s bad.”

“Where are you, now? I’m coming to get you, and you’ll kip at my place till we get this sorted.”

John was chuffed. “Thanks for that, mate, means a lot. I’m at Kensington Central Library, but don’t rush. I need time to look into appealing the withdrawal. And on that, can you think of anyone I should call to get the request binned?”

“Fuck. I mean call your CO, obviously, but as far as people with pull, I don’t know. I’ll need to think.”

“Yeah, he’s next on my list. If anyone occurs to you, write their name down for me, or drop them a line. I want to do as much as possible to put the brakes on this thing today, and I’m not above begging strangers for help.”

He wrapped things up with Bill, who would pick him up later in the day. John decided to give himself the next three hours to research before calling Major Sholto. He’d prefer to come to the Major with a plan, not a problem, but by the end of his time limit he’d knew he’d failed that goal. He could barely stand to picture what the Major would think of him after this.

“Major Sholto, I’m sorry to bother you like this. It’s John Watson.” 

“Watson? I thought you were on leave.”

“Yes, sir, I am. But I- I’m in a bad situation sir, and I am reaching out to see if I have any recourse, or options that my research didn’t turn up. Sir, do you know of a way to stop a withdrawal request from going through? When an alpha submits one for their omega?”

“Your alpha is having you retire from service?”

“Not if I can help it, sir.”

“I thought you said your sister depended on your pension, why is she withdrawing you?”

John felt ashamed to say it out loud. “My sister is, was, my legal alpha, and yesterday she signed my papers away.” He schooled himself. “The alpha she signed them over to filed to have me retire against my will, sir. I don’t want to abandon my unit, my career, like this. If there is any way, any appeal that I can submit, anything at all I can do, I will.” 

“Who is this alpha that has your papers now? Was he courting you?”

John referred to his envelope. “Uh, the name is Victor Trevor, sir.”

“Why don’t you sound sure.”

“I hadn’t met him before yesterday, sir.”

“Why would your sister do this, Watson?” 

There was the question of the hour, of Harry’s whole life it sometimes seemed. “I don’t have all the details sir, only what the alpha told me when I woke up yesterday afternoon. But he said she,” he had to get through this “that she used me to pay off her debts, sir. I don’t have proof of that, only his word, but she does struggle with gambling, and other…issues.”

“I see.” There was a pause. “Did you say you woke up in the afternoon?”

“Yes, sir. I don’t know what they used, but when I woke up, I was already in the alpha’s flat, and he told me they’d drugged me.”

Sholto’s voice was urgent now. “Have- Watson, have you been assaulted? Have you sought medical treatment?”

“No sir, not- not exactly. At least I don’t think he did anything when I was unconscious. I was dressed when I woke up.” John didn’t want to leave an opening for the Major to ask about what had happened when he was conscious, so he pushed on. “The alpha said he was trying to find a way to lift my suppressants first. And in any case, I can’t file charges, against him, can I, sir?” 

There was a pause on the other end. “No, if he has your papers, unfortunately I do not believe you can.”

Deep inhale, slow exhale. “Sir, have you ever heard of a withdrawal filing being overturned, by an omega, or by a review board of some kind?”

“I have not encountered a case like this. The legal alpha is usually at liberty to make these sorts of requests, but I cannot imagine these circumstances would be considered usual. Did the alpha say why he was withdrawing you? He would receive a portion of your pension after all. Or did he file while you were unconscious?”

“Sir, he-” John wanted to catch fire from the indignity of the words, “said he wanted me available, for him. I mentioned the pension when I asked him not to withdraw me, but he said he didn’t care about the money. I was restrained, sir, or I would have stopped him,” John felt the need to add. To explain himself for letting it come to this. 

“You were restrained?” 

“Um, yes sir. I think he anticipated that I wouldn’t want to be there.”

“Then where are you now Watson?”

“Library, sir. Needed to research stopping the withdrawal.” Fat lot of good it had done him so far.

He heard an exhale on the other line but could have sworn the next words were said with something like pride, “Watson, you incorrigible shit. How badly did you hurt him, getting free?” 

“Didn’t need to, sir. He got high on something last night, left him completely out of it. It was tempting though.”

“I’ll bet. But it helps our case that no one can claim you assaulted him. Better for him too, given the world of hurt you would have put on him in a fair fight.”

John thought that was one of the nicer compliments he’d received. The Major fell into a contemplative silence, and John opted not to interrupt. Finally, Sholto said, “Tell me this, if he allowed you to stay enlisted, could you stand to be his omega?” 

“It would be a hell of a lot better than the alternative, sir.” John wasn’t stupid and wasn’t about to ask for more than was critical to his sanity. The laws were entrenched, and though he trusted Major Sholto more than almost anyone he knew, he was still an alpha. There would be limits to his sympathy. “She signed him on, and the registry’s got a copy. I know I’m stuck with him, sir. It’s fine, I can make do. What I really care about is not giving up a career that matters to me just to be his plaything.” That was probably more than had been wise to share, but it was true. 

“John, I am going to be completely straight with you. I don’t know of any mechanism to prevent an alpha from withdrawing their omega. But I promise you, I will do everything in my power to keep you enlisted.”

John didn’t know what’d he’d ever done to earn that kind of promise, but he was overwhelmed with gratitude all the same.

∙ ∙ ∙

Later at Bill’s, John ate leftovers in a borrowed t-shirt and track pants, utterly knackered, when the beta said, “You know, I have an idea to get that alpha out of your hair while we sort this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt the first chapter got a little bogged in exposition at times, so hopefully this one starts things rolling more. And Bill Murray will never let you down.


	3. The Summit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James makes the case for John

The summit, as James Sholto had come to think of it, was boiling down to a face-off between too many stuffed shirts vs a small handful of military officers. Following his petition, it was decided that the ultimate outcome would be deferred to this council. The whole thing had been thrown together with top speed, but he thought the dossier his team had put together was compelling. Representing John’s interests in person, aside from James, were only those few who could be spared on such short notice. It meant his three co-representatives were not fully prepped for the battering that was about to unfold. James told them to just look like they agreed with anything he said and not speak unless he directed them to. 

James didn’t know nearly enough about the people making up the opposition, but of those he recognized, it wasn’t good. The alpha politicians especially worried him. They would likely be traditionalists, bonded to perfectly demure omegas and not at all open to the arguments he planned to make. The betas in the room were still swing votes, and he was relying on them, because as expected, there wouldn’t be a single omega present to offer so much as coffee, let alone insight. It grated him. He had hoped they could at least get some omega-rights activist politicians in the room, but no such luck under the pressed timeline. Why the Iceman was there was beyond James. He always categorized Mycroft Holmes as more of a bureaucratic spy than anything, and it seemed against his reputation to take interest in the matter of an RAMC captain’s fate. 

May as well get this started. “Thank you all for joining us,” he began, and the tense room quieted at once. James knew his deep voice carried and was helpful in commanding an audience. He’d need that today, dealing with the massive egos in this room. “As I believe you’ve all been briefed, we are here to find a resolution to the matter of John Watson, a Royal Army Medical Corps captain under my command, and the attempted withdrawal request made on his behalf.”

And the floodgates were open. 

Miller was first off the draw. “’Attempted’ being the operative word, as I understand it, Major Sholto. There was nothing wrong with the paperwork mister, ah,” the alpha flipped through her dossier for a moment, “Mr. Victor Trevor submitted for Captain Watson was there? It was due to your request that the withdrawal was held up?”

“Yes, Ms. Miller, that is correct. I, along with a number of my ranking colleagues, petitioned for the filing to be suspended.” 

“Why?” a red-faced man barked out.

Did the bastard not read his briefing material? “Captain Watson does not wish to retire and contacted me to learn if there was a way to prevent the request from taking effect. I said I would do what I could.”

“It is up to the omega to persuade his bondmate over career moves, not the government,” the red-faced man blustered.

God give him patience. “As my memo detailed, Victor Trevor is not Captain Watson’s bondmate, nor was he his legal Alpha until a week ago, when Captain Watson’s sister, and former legal alpha, Harriet Watson, signed him over. Trevor filed for Watson’s withdrawal later that same day, which also happened to be the first time he ever met the captain. Persuasion would have been difficult, I imagine, under such a timeframe.”

An alpha named Parker piped in. “This is still a purely personal matter. Why are you agreeing to meddle in the private lives of your men, Major Sholto?”

“Given Watson’s request, I felt the extenuating circumstances warranted the military’s intersession, at least as far as the enlistment goes. The captain was unaware of his sister’s intentions to give him up, was secretly drugged during the transfer of ownership, and was physically shackled by his new Alpha upon his return to consciousness.” Several betas in the room looked horrified. “That context was considered valid to the officers listed on the third page of your dossier, who agreed to join me in filing the petition. You’ll notice Lieutenant General Frogmorton’s name is on that list.”

Parker did not back down. “The nature of the transfer is simply salacious detail, and not pertinent to the withdrawal. I suspect it is being presented here in the worst possible light, as well.” 

Parker poked at a line in the dossier. “When Captain Watson awoke, he fled from his new alpha did he not? So, the restraints were a sound precaution. All in all, it sounds like these alphas knew Watson was prone to hysterical behavior and were acting as any sensible caregivers would by drugging him. They were clearly taking the necessary measures to ensure his safe transfer. It’s unseemly for an omega to be unbonded at his age, in any case. Lucky he was not unwillingly bonded before his sister found him a suitable mate.”

This was getting into the weeds of bullshit much faster than James had planned, and he couldn’t let Parker skew their perception of John. _Hysterical behavior, my arse._ “Captain Watson’s personal life has taken a back seat to his career thus far, that much is true. It does take quite some time and education to become a doctor, let alone achieve the rank of captain.” A rude old bat attempted to cut in with, “The omega is a doctor?” but James plowed over her. “And unfortunately, the sister does not appear to have been acting as Watson’s caregiver, nor has she done for some time. The opposite in fact. Watson’s career is her largest source of financial support. I do not know how she will afford to stay in London without the help of his pension.” He did not state his other opinions of John’s sister. “Further, Trevor freely stated that the transfer of Captain Watson was linked to some sort of bet, and relieved Harriet Watson of a substantial gambling dept. Her history indicates some troublingly addictive tendencies in that area.”

He was pleased so see the cowed look on several alpha faces, including Parker’s, at that. 

“Why are neither alpha here, to speak for themselves and give their sides?” Miller asked.

James bit back a similar question of why John had not been permitted to present his own case. “All attempts to contact Ms. Watson have failed and Mr. Trevor is currently in rehabilitation, following the discovery of a substantial drug collection at his personal residence this week.”

That appeared to arm Parker with a new line of attack. “Hmm, yes, and quite a desirable location that residence is in. You have attempted to portray Watson as a victim, but Trevor is more than financially secure, from the information you have provided, and has no criminal record, only recreational indiscretions. The captain sounds like he is facing nothing more dangerous than a comfortable retirement. Some would call that lucky. Aren’t most omegas hoping to lure a wealthy alpha to bond with them?” 

James stifled an unhelpful sound of disgust. “That’s hardly a stereotype we can hope to see defied when the wishes of omegas like Watson are ignored. He greatly values his military career and is adamant in his desire not to ‘abandon his unit’ as he puts it.”

A man called Gordon scoffed. “This whole drama is why we should have kept omegas out of the military in the first place. All this fuss for-”

“I believe you are wrong, Mr. Gordan.” James failed to keep the sharp rebuke from his voice. “I can say with confidence that Captain Watson’s forced retirement would be the army’s loss. He has been an indisputable asset to his unit, as these letters and testimonials have shown.” He pushed the stack of paper forward. “These were included with your dossier, but please feel free to peruse them again at your convenience, if you doubt my word.”

The beta wilted slightly, but another filled the vacuum in his stead. “That is irrelevant, Major. The law clearly authorized his sister to act as she did, and Mr. Parker is right, his new alpha is financially capable of supporting him. If this Mr. Trevor fellow doesn’t want his omega employed, it is none of our concern. The circumstances may be messy, as you say, but the government shouldn’t be getting involved,” she concluded calmly.

James gritted his teeth. “The government is already involved. If current policy did not allow his fate to be so easily manipulated, I do not imagine there would be a mess to begin with. The omega in question applied himself to a rigorous field of study and dedicated his talents to Queen and country with distinction. Meanwhile our laws have blindly embowered unemployed addicts to run his life amok simply because they are alphas. It saddens me greatly to know there are those who would defer to their biology over his accomplishments, but I didn’t come here to debate politics.”

“That is seems doubtful, sir,” the old, interrupting, codger piped back up. “I wonder if this is not just some convoluted attempt to aim a spear at our nation’s omega ownership laws. How many other rightful filings do you mean to disrupt using similar pretenses as this one?” James wanted to laugh in her face at that. John’s case was a prime example of the system’s need for reform, but marshaled himself, before words like _idiotic bigotry_ slipped out. A confrontation would not help John.

“I would never care to speculate on the frequency of similar such circumstances. I am here because this specific case came to my attention and it is the one that I am concerned with. These policies are not my area-”

“Indeed,” Parker cut in with a silky smile. “You make an impassioned case, Major Sholto, and we can all agree there are many sides to the matter of ownership laws, but it is definitively not your area.”

“No, Mr. Parker, you are quite right. My area is the military. And we do not intend to let a good and needed soldier be dragged away when he wants to stay.”

“Then what exactly are you proposing?” Ms. Miller asked, pointedly.

“I am open to the suggestions of this council. But I think between all the minds in this room, some solution could be found that would be agreeable.”

“Is that your way of saying you want us to pressure the alpha into letting Watson serve?” Her tone was hard.

“If such a thing could be done, I would welcome it gladly. Though I suspect Trevor would not enjoy Watson’s long deployments. It would seem kinder to both to find another arrangement.” John hadn’t asked, hadn’t even suggested he wanted James to do this, but he wasn’t going to walk away without even trying. John Watson deserved a better alpha than the one he’d been saddled with, and well, in for a penny. If they could revert his ownership back to his sister, James was sure John wouldn’t let her commit such abuses again. 

“You mean for us to rob the man of his omega?” The red-faced man sounded scandalized.

“Not at all. I have spoken with my military colleagues and a fair sum could be proffered to make Trevor whole. I also think Watson would be more than happy to pledge some portion of his future pension toward the partial repayment of such a sum, if the expense is off-putting to you. In any case, Victor Trevor is not interested in money, or in need. Regardless we are happy to arrange fair compensation.”

Parker looked outraged. “And if the omega was forcibly bought out from Trevor? What would happen to Watson then? He cannot be left to his own devices. Or are you so radical as to suggest he be completely emancipated, unbonded as he is?”

Emancipation, when an omega held their own papers, wasn’t unheard of. It regularly occurred when a bonded omega’s alpha died, and if any unbonded omega could manage it, it would be John Watson. But James knew better than to ask for such. He put on his most placating voice. “I would never suggest something like that. I simply feel that returning his ownership to his sister would be best for all involved. It was a foolish, possibly inebriated, error on her part to give her brother up.”

“But that would be tantamount to the army forgiving Harriet Watson of an irresponsibly accumulated debt,” the beta woman from earlier said, just as calm as before. “Surely you agree that would be a dangerous precedent to set.” 

James saw this was getting dicey. “The army regularly-”

But Miller cut him off, shaking her head. “No, I agree with Winifred. The precedent is not acceptable, and I will not support a resolution of this council that results in Ms. Watson regaining her claim. Frankly, I do not see that she is a better choice. And at least Trevor wants him and intends to bond him.”

James objected to that metric for assessing the best guardian of John’s welfare. “I doubt the alpha wants Watson so much as he wants a healthy, attractive omega to warm his bed, and he could find any number of consenting alternates to do that. He doesn’t need this one, the army does.” He debated voicing his next point, the traditionalists were like to blanche, but he thought it made a good argument against Trevor. “And while the sister is not ideal, she is family. Trevor on the other hand has bitten off more than he can chew with Watson. The captain is intelligent, strong willed, and physically very capable. In the long run Trevor couldn’t handle him.”

James nearly gagged as he finished the statement. The rush of alpha pheromones his comment had elicited from the room was staggering. The alphas’ scents clearly said they wanted to prove they were up to the challenge of this feisty, desirable omega. Weren’t these types supposed to like the delicate ones? And these people hadn’t even met John. Massive egos indeed, though perhaps he should have avoided phrases like ‘bed warming.’ Still, it gave him an idea. 

“I do not suggest we rush any decision making.” James pretended to heave a sigh. “But failing to find a path towards stability for the captain among our current choices, perhaps an intermediary alpha could be found. Someone other than his sister to hold Watson’s paperwork while a permanent alpha is sought. A temporary guardian, to get him out from Trevor’s control while we decide the next step.”

He could smell how this pleased them, but then Mycroft Holmes, of all people, cleared his throat, and suddenly James understood how the man had earned his nickname. The chilly silence that fell was absolute and was it laced with fear? All the alpha preening of moments before was gone. Holmes didn’t need a booming baritone to call order, and Sholto was impressed, despite himself. 

“That is a very prudent idea, Major Sholto.” Holmes intoned. “It would be a shame, if not a waste for this fate to befall an individual of Watson’s caliber, and for reasons so outside his control. Excellent grades at university, top of his class in medical school, frequent and earned commendations in his military career. I am familiar with Victor Trevor. Old money and a selfish disposition, he would reduce the captain’s life to one of nothing but frivolities, stifling his promise. I doubt Trevor would even allow the man locum work as a physician. To have one unstable figure as the captain’s legal representative was a wrinkle of genetics. To be sold to another is a misfortune within our capabilities to rectify. I seem to recall a clause in the omega ownership doctrine about greater societal responsibility and benefit which certainly applies here.” 

The others nodded sagely at this declaration, or else held their tongues. James gawked at them. He knew there couldn’t really be universal support for Holmes’ speech—the legal clause sited must be extremely obscure—not from the likes of Parker, but no pushback came. 

It shocked James more than he’d like to admit to learn that he’d been speaking to an audience of one. And his delight at realizing he’d won their support was only slightly mitigated by the unsettling knowledge that Mycroft Holmes was far more than he appeared.

∙ ∙ ∙

It wasn’t a common occurrence, but Mycroft was not above annexing a good idea when one presented itself. He smiled at the protective Sholto. “Though if you are suggesting yourself for the role of intermediate alpha, Major, I do not think that would be wise. The appearance of impropriety is nearly as damaging as the real thing, and you are his commanding officer, after all.”

“No, of course.” The Major looked moderately embarrassed by the idea. “Though I think using an alpha of Watson’s acquaintance would be sensible. Nevertheless, I would be satisfied with any honorable executor of this summit’s decision. I certainly do not insist it be me, only someone with his interests in mind.”

“Excellent. Then if there are no objections from the rest of this council,” Mycroft gave only the most cursory pause to let such air, knowing none would be forthcoming, “I think that can conclude this discussion. My office will be happy to clean up the loose ends. Oh, and I shall like to speak with you, Major, about arranging a meeting with the captain before I take over his paperwork.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey there, sorry for all the generic, made up characters in this chapter, and the imaginary legal stuff. I swear, there is sex in this fic eventually.
> 
> My earliest idea of this story was just a one off of this scene, where it was Sherlock who had John's papers, and Sholto was debating Mycroft to try to free John. But then I realized I could use Victor, because I love Sherlock and wanted him to be a good guy, which kicked everything into a bigger arc. Once that was decided, it made more sense to pull back Mycroft's role (gotta give the man a sense of drama) and provide other characters to fight it out with Sholto. Hope this wasn't too annoying.


	4. The Alternate Option

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John faces his newest alpha, Mycroft Holmes.

That day, only shortly after the summit, Mycroft stood, surveying the omega. He had a pleasant face. A strong body. Skills, apparently. A truly lovely, enticing smell, that could not be denied. But these traits could be said of many. The attitude, the defiance, that was the rare treat he offered. 

Mycroft had orchestrated the necessary details with his standard efficiency. Once all was in place, Captain Watson had been couriered to Mycroft’s primary office building by Anthea, and now met Mycroft’s gaze unflinchingly after their formal introduction. The captain had little knowledge of the council’s decision, or the point of this meeting, given that Mycroft hadn’t provided Sholto the time to make proper explanations.

“There was an interesting conversation held about you this morning, Captain, and its outcome will obviously have a very serious impact on your future. So, tell me, what is it you want, were you free to dictate your fate?”

Watson gave him an appraising look before deciding on an honest answer. “In a perfect world, I would continue the career I have and there would be no alpha to control me. We don’t live in a perfect world.”

A picky omega was one thing, and at least this one had the qualifications to warrant it but Mycroft felt that abstaining from a bond entirely was untenable for the solider. It occurred to him that Sherlock would be an ideal solution. His brother had no interest whatsoever in omegas or sex of any kind. They could couple for one heat to form the bond, and after would be free to go their separate ways. Watson could serve to his heart’s content on his dosage of military suppressants while Sherlock’s discretionary fund could grow steadily off the military pension. The captain would be thrilled.

But Mycroft saw no benefit for himself in that arrangement. It wasn’t every day a specimen like this fell into your lap, one who could inspire this kind of ‘loyalty.’ The way Sholto spoke of him- it was little wonder the politicians had been near drooling. Powerful alphas often had nontraditional tastes in omegas, whether they hid it or not, and from the flock of ranking officers prepared to leap to Watson’s aid, he was clearly a coveted prize. Even Mycroft found he was not totally immune. But he would refrain, as he had ideas of how a carrot like this would come in useful. 

“What if I could provide you with an alternate alpha? One who would allow you to serve.”

The captain looked up sharply, suspicion clear. “Are you referring to yourself?”

Mycroft couldn’t suppress a small smile. Sharp little thing. “Temporarily. Until I could make suitable arrangements for you.”

“Temporarily? Why would-” John broke off his words with a forced cough. He didn’t think it likely a better offer was coming. Hell, he’d have found a way to manage with Trevor if the prick had let him stay in the army. He could make anything work. “I’d be amenable to that, assuming it’s been signed off by the council Major Sholto appealed to. What would you want in exchange? I’d mention the pension, but you don’t look like the type interested in that.”

Mycroft’s smile widened. “Your cooperation and gratitude would be appreciated, and sufficient.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

“No Captain. I have no interest in partaking in the doubtless desirable aspects of your person. I do mean for this relationship to be one in the traditionally familial sense. Thus, some deference on your part would not go amiss, and I will likewise fulfill my role by facilitating your acquisition by a suitable alpha for bonding. Remaining open to my selection for your mate would constitute cooperation. And retaining accurate memories of my assistance in your time of need would make for fine gratitude.”

“So, don’t run away from whoever you pick for me, and say yes when you ask for future favors. You could have just said.” Watson rose and approached him. “Should I ask how Major Sholto got your help and what legal trickery you pulled to get me out from Trevor? Or is plausible deniability a crucial part of the game at this stage?”

Mycroft liked his brusque manner and felt the impure desire to forcibly master the boldness, but contained it. “Not crucial, though the details are needlessly tedious. Suffice it to say, the legal groundwork is solid, Mr. Trevor has been compensated, and I have your papers here.” He produced them and went on. “As for the Major, I am simply open to well-reasoned arguments. And he made a compelling case on your behalf.”

John let a small smile flit over his face. He was damn lucky to have such a decent man as his commanding officer. He didn’t know how he would make it up to him. He looked back at Holmes. “Your lot move fast. But if it’s as you say, then I think we have a bargain.” 

The solider offered his hand, and Mycroft took it, enjoying the warmth. “Thank you, for doing all this. I really am very grateful.”

Mycroft only responded with a small, ‘hmm,’ before gesturing for John to walk before him, out of the conference room. “If you will join me, we can get you situated. You will, of course, be moving into my home. Must keep up appearances. I’ve had your possessions relocated from Mr. Trevor’s flat, and if there are any other items you shall need, please let me know.”

“No. Thank you for offering though, Mr. Holmes. What I have in my rucksack is all that’s important. My sister will have to answer my calls one day, and I can pick up the rest of my clothes then.”

Holmes replied with a sound John couldn’t categorize. They strode out of the government building together and were immediately collected by an unmarked black car. John wondered how Holmes was sure they’d got inside the right one but didn’t ask. What little Major Sholto had been able to tell him about the man suggested intrigue was part of the package. 

Once they were settled in the back-seat Holmes produced a cell phone and handed it to John. 

“This is for you. It will make our communication much easier, as I work late and travel frequently. Do feel free to use it personally, it is yours to keep. Also, as we will be operating in casual proximity, I would ask that you call me Mycroft.” 

“Of course.” John had to hold back from adding ‘sir,’ or speculating on the excess of posh in a family that opted for names like Mycroft. “John’s fine for me as well. And I’m happy to reimburse you for this, by the way,” he said tapping the phone.

“No, that will not be necessary,” was all the response he got to that. John couldn’t think how to press the matter without being rude, so decided to let it go. He thumbed through the phone and saw that his contacts were already populated with ‘William Murray,’ ‘Harriet Watson,’ ‘Maj. James Sholto,’ ‘Mycroft,’ and someone called ‘Anthea.’ He couldn’t stop the chuckle as he muttered, “Airstrip One has Wi-Fi.” He didn’t see the small smile that won from Mycroft, who was typing on his own phone. John prepared for a quiet remainder of the ride, but it ended before he’d really had the chance. 

The home they’d arrived at was elegant, classically styled, and enviably snuggled in the heart of London. Mycroft led him through a perfunctory tour, before excusing himself to his home office and John was glad for the privacy. He wanted to bring Bill and Major Sholto up to speed. 

Bill was first, because the call was so much easier to face, and John knew he was itching for news. It had been Bill’s brilliant idea to place the tip that landed Victor in ‘rehab.’ Unfortunately, it wasn’t the proper kind, but one for rich assholes, which amounted to little better than a spa featuring only slightly fewer controlled drugs than Victor preferred. Still, it had gotten him out of the way beautifully for the week and a couple to follow as well. 

“They let you out from the toff!?”

“I know, never thought I’d get such a good outcome. Seems impossible they’d let me dodge a life sentence with that sod. Still don’t really know how they managed it, but I’m not about push, if it means the ordeal was just a short and painful one off.”

“‘Short and painful’ is how I like to describe you. Not a bad idea for a chest tattoo, either, if you’re shopping.”

Bill’s stupid cracks and gleeful relief were infectious and had John properly laughing by the time he finally told the man to bugger off. He immediately rung the Major, because, well, how do you go about telling a man you respect beyond measure that you are eternally grateful to him without letting things get unacceptably soppy? John certainly didn’t know and giving himself time to think about it wasn’t bound to help. 

“Sir, John Watson here. Wanted to give you an update. And thank you, for everything today.”

That felt lamely inadequate, but the Major didn’t seem to mind. “I don’t know that I did anything remarkable, Watson. The situation spoke for itself. And I’m glad the Iceman hasn’t given you hypothermia yet. Has he been decent to you?”

“Mycroft’s been courteous. I think I’ll get on here fine, though I hope you haven’t agreed to any favors for him on my behalf, sir.”

“I haven’t, but that doesn’t mean he won’t ask, which is fine. It was informative to learn the weight of Holmes’s pull. I don’t mind telling you we were in some hot water before he made his opinion clear. The rest fell in line after that. So, keep your wits about you with him.”

They talked at length and were wrapping things up when John said, “And sir? I truly mean it. Thank you. Things would have been a bit bleak without your help, and this outcome is more than I could’ve hoped for. I don’t know how I’ll every repay what you’ve done for me.”

“I know you would have done the same for me, John.”

∙ ∙ ∙

By the time he’d rung off, John saw he had a missed text from Mycroft, telling him that he would be working through dinner, but wouldn’t John please enjoy the spread available in the kitchen. John picked his way through the delicious French meal and occupied himself by trying to call Harry a few times, hoping the new number would catch her off guard, but had no luck. His anxiety picked up at her unusually thorough hermitage.

He didn’t want her drinking herself blind with guilt when everything had turned out fine. He wouldn’t want that even if everything had gone to shit, but it’d be especially pointless now. Her voice box was full, so he just texted her the good news, and practically begged that she call him. God, he hoped she wasn’t in some terrible mess, or dangerous place, refusing to ask him for help. He paced, trying to think what to do, before calling Clara. It was a bit of a moving target, given how on-again off-again she was with his sister, but he didn’t have a great back up plan. 

Clara was lovely, as always, promising to ask around after Harry at their regular digs, and saying she’d give him an update. He’d always liked Clara so much. Why couldn’t Harry pull her head out of her arse for someone like this?

John considered if there was anything else to do that evening but decided he could worry fruitlessly just as well in his bed as in the kitchen. He diligently put away the food and did the washing up before heading to his room, where he found his laptop, rucksack, and a special key card that must be for the front door, all neatly set on a desk, along with a charging cable for his new phone. Further, all his clothes, even the one’s he’d have sworn were at Harry’s, sat smartly in his dresser and wardrobe, along with several pieces he didn’t recognize and felt certain were outside of his price point. In fact, looking at the room again, he realized everything from Harry’s flat of his, from his bookshelves worth of novels, textbooks, and medical journals to a his favorite RAMC mug, was present and tidily rehomed. He amused himself, wondering how specific Mycroft’s instructions to his apparently warrant-defying assistants had been, or if they were just trained to anticipate their bosses exacting standards. Still, it couldn’t be said that the man wasn’t accommodating, and this evening was a far nicer welcome than the one he’d received from his last alpha.

∙ ∙ ∙

James Sholto considered the call with John. It was warming to hear the difference in his voice alone. He thought back to Mycroft’s implications at the meeting. That he, James, had wanted to be John’s alpha. In the quiet of his office James gave himself the space to explore whether there was truth in that.

Yes, he probably did harbor something of a flame for John, but he gave himself permission not to be guilt ridden over it. If it had helped him persuade Mycroft, and thus the summit, to get John out of his bind then he couldn’t pretend to think it was a bad thing.

∙ ∙ ∙

The next morning John woke early, the days at Bill’s having allowed him to recover from his disrupted sleep schedule. He was surprised, though he couldn’t say why, to see Mycroft sitting at his own kitchen table enjoying a croissant with coffee. Maybe it just seemed too ordinary a thing for the enigma to be doing.

“Good morning John, I hope you had a relaxing evening.”

“Good morning. I did, yes, thank you.”

Mycroft smiled. “Please, join me, have a pastry.” 

John did so, and said, “I noticed the clothes and things from Harry’s, though I suspect she hasn’t contacted you.”

“I was able to make preparations for your stay without her involvement.”

“Right, that is usually a good way to go about things. Though if you, or ah, any of your assistants see her, could you let me know? She’s not usually this good at staying underground.”

“I think you will receive a call from a Miss Clara Hawthorn today informing you that your sister is alive and relatively well. Which I hope alleviates your worries.”

John thought that was an unnecessarily dramatic way of telling him. Omniscient hadn’t been one of Sholto’s descriptors for Mycroft, but the little display told John he was expected to ascribe it himself. Still, it was better to understand the nature of his new beast, and he thought it best not to poke him. Yet. “That is good, yeah, does take a load off my mind. Thanks.” 

Mycroft continued. “I am glad. And with you now here, I would like to review my plans regarding your future. I have assembled a sizable list of potential suitors for you-” John nearly choked on his apple turnover at that. Mycroft had been his alpha for less than a day, how many suitors could he have possibly found? “-and I would like to introduce these, let us call them candidates, to you very casually. As the situation is in flux, I don’t want you getting attached to anyone before things are settled. These introductions will simply give them a chance to see and smell you properly but will be no more cumbersome than that. I would advise you always try to make a good impression, they could be your future bondmate, but thankfully you aren’t the sort who needs such a reminder.”

And that was apparently the end of that. John decided not to let himself get bothered over it. Well, much. He didn’t want a bondmate at all and had gone to some lengths in life to avoid one, but Harry had shoved him well past that option now. He’d already agreed to accept whoever Mycroft chose and everything he’d seen suggested his new alpha wouldn’t accept anything substandard, just as a matter of principle. Whoever Mycroft picked would be perfectly bearable, and that was as warm a position on the matter as John was like to reach. 

So, his future oddly relegated, John did the things he had planned when he originally scheduled his leave, got things set up for his next few months working at the military medical center in London, and eventually visited a post office to ship the borrowed supplies and money back to Victor, restocked as needed. He didn’t want to be in his debt. The one bad night was becoming a memory and John was happy to put it, and his souvenirs in the past. He kept the razor blade though, as he’d grown attached. It had saved him, after all, before any of the rest had, and like him, it deserved a better life than that as Victor Trevor’s tool. He would have hung it with his dog tags if it didn’t risk cutting his chest. Instead it found a home in his wallet, and John was content with that.

As for his new Alpha, things continued in the same distant manner. Mycroft seemed partial to a shared breakfast over other meals, and morning was the only time John regularly saw him. His alpha seemed to have a ‘many hands make labors light’ stance toward those in his court, and John was now a member. He received occasional phone contact from Mycroft or his main assistant, Anthea, (famously of his phone’s contact list), with instructions or errands. Anthea also had a habit of coming up behind John in public and plucking his elbow to get his attention before collecting him from the location. Again, he had a perfectly good phone, but her presence apparently better ensured speedy compliance, over a suggestion. The bulk of John’s errands involved coming to an office so Mycroft could introduce an alpha. But other than that, John was as free as he’d been with Harry. He relished the disinterest, knowing it wouldn’t likely be shared by his future mate. And it was well into his stay before Mycroft commissioned his medical expertise. 

“John, if you aren’t indisposed, could you please look at a patient for me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Airstrip One has Wi-Fi” bit is just a reference to 1984, where Airstrip One was the name for the British isles, and Big Brother jabs just work too easily for Mycroft.


	5. The Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes a house call for Mycroft

An elderly beta woman greeted John at the door of the unfamiliar address. “Oh, thank goodness, he’s a such a dear but very stubborn, never likes to visit the A&E. Good thing that nice inspector put his foot down this time. Do come in doctor.” John had no idea who she was talking about but thought her doting sweet. He let her natter on a bit before pointing him up the stairs. 

John found his presumed patient pouting on the couch, cradling a badly cut forearm in a stained flannel. Must have been told a doctor was coming, he didn’t look distressed. John glanced around. Nice place, bit messy. As for the patient, late twenties or early thirties, pale, curly black hair, sharp features, alpha. John wondered if this was an audition with one of Mycroft’s candidates. If it was, the man didn’t look keen. Good. That meant John was excused from any weak attempts to be a respectable show dog and could focus on patching him up. The man’s glare made John doubtful he’d even agree to let the injury be treated, but that was fine. John could handle unruly patients.

“Hello, my name is John Watson. Do you mind if I take a look at that cut?” John didn’t wait for a response before removing his coat and rolling up his sleeves. He’d decided to opt for efficiency in his bedside manner with this one.

The stranger glowered a minute more but finally nodded and watched closely as John approached. He set down his kit and phone to inspect the wound. 

“How did you get this?”

The stranger ignored that. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Afghanistan,” John replied, and after a beat, “How much has Mycroft told you? Because he hasn’t even given me your name.”

The man’s eyes widened at that, gleaning something other than John’s meaning from the words. What, John couldn’t reckon, so he pulled out supplies from his kit while the stranger elaborated. “He hasn’t told me anything. But you are a ranking military doctor, recently returned for leave, newly and somewhat closely affiliated with him.” A statement, not a question. The stranger’s eyes narrowed, as if doing so would bring John’s history into clearer focus. “You don’t work for Mycroft.”

“Nope, can’t say that I do.” John stepped away to find bowls and clean flannel. 

When he returned, hands washed and needed materials collected, the man’s face was possibly more severe. “How did you know all that, if he hasn’t mentioned anything?” John asked, sitting on the coffee table. He angled the man’s arm over the bowl, pulled on his gloves and began irrigating the wound. 

“I observed. Your haircut and posture say military, your tan says sun, but it doesn’t extend past your wrists or collar, so not on holiday. Deployment then, either Afghanistan or Iraq, and an omega at your age suggests career, thus active and ranking. Oddly unbonded. Doctor is obvious, given my injury level, who sent you, and the skill you are currently demonstrating. You came at his directive, but you called him Mycroft, too casual for his line of work, and you didn’t give me a fake name. But you are sporting a new phone, the same kind his staff uses. You wouldn’t spring for something expensive like that yourself, yet you don’t know who I am. Thus, you haven’t known Mycroft long, are somehow entangled with him but not professionally, then why…No. Impossible.”

“What?”

“You are his new omega.” 

“I might just be his friend.”

“Ridiculous.” 

John chuckled, unable to help himself. “You’re right.” The wound was now clean, and John picked up the lidocaine to numb it, looking at his patient in a new light. “That was amazing, by the way. All that you just worked out?”

The man was caught off guard. “Ah,” his eyes flicked to meet John’s and held there a moment, before darting away, “yes, I did. But that’s not what people normally say.”

“What do they normally say?”

“Piss off.”

That made John laugh properly, and only slightly belated, the man joined him.

“Who are you then, if my not knowing was a tell?” John asked, now beginning the sutures.

“Sherlock Holmes, and I’m surprised Mycroft didn’t demand more pomp and circumstance for our introduction, if you’ll be joining the family. It was a mistake, by the way, for you to select my meddling elder brother after successfully avoiding a bond for so long.” 

“Mycroft is your brother?” It delighted John stupidly to know that Mycroft was an actual big brother as well a figurative one, and got sidetracked by the news. “That figures, it’s the only time he’s sent me on a house call.”

“Indeed. I never thought Mycroft would take an omega, and I wouldn’t have imagined him sending you about, doing his bidding like the other henchmen. He is very lazy though, and you would have been convenient.”

“He asked politely so I agreed, but I should have mentioned, we’re not a couple. He’s only my newest legal alpha. Hence the lack of pomp.”

Sherlock’s face curled. “Stupid of me, missing that. But you are living with him?”

“For about a fortnight, now.”

“I don’t know how you’ve kept your sanity.”

“Believe me, I’ve had worse.”

Sherlock’s eyes swept him again. “The healing at your wrists…” he trailed off.

John gave a wry smile. “That’s beyond the scope of this interview, I’m afraid.” John wasn’t cross, just opportunistic. “I’m not certainly not spilling, when I didn’t get to hear how you got your cut.”

“A butcher with a vendetta, and a sharp knife. Clean thankfully. A consequence of my work.”

“As?”

“A consulting detective.”

“Is that like a private one?”

“No, I am the only one capable of what I do. I assist the police when they are out of their depth. Which is always.”

John smiled at that. Though he thought the police didn’t consult amateurs, Sherlock hardly seemed like one. He finished with disinfectant and bandaging. With the regained freedom of movement Sherlock snatched his phone up close to his face and began typing rapidly. It forcibly reminded John of Victor and he tried to shake the unpleasant memory while he repacked his kit.

“Also, you’ll want to be careful, John, living in that house. You look fit enough, but letting Mycroft dictate your diet will put an end to that quickly.”

John smiled as he rose to leave. “I’ll keep that in mind. The morning pastry routine is a bit much. Go easy with that arm. Keep it dry and change out the bandaging tomorrow.” He deposited disinfectant and a sealed package of gauze on the coffee table. At the door he turned. “It was nice meeting you Sherlock.”

“You as well, John.”

∙ ∙ ∙

Not one of Mycroft’s typical goons. Simple minded, like all of humanity. But a useful skill set and slightly more intelligent than the average throng, Sherlock had thought, until he realized the link between the man and Mycroft. He was then prepared to throw out any positive associations to demolish his brother– proclaim Mycroft a fool for having been reduced to a type of baser gluttony by a pair of dark blue eyes and a better than average scent. But things took a turn.

John responded singularly to Sherlock’s deductions. Appreciatively. Sincerely. A rare and pleasant occurrence. Sherlock could recognize the traces of deeper appeal there. He was unprepared to like any future in-law that would select Mycroft but quickly switched tact; omegas had few rights in this area, certainly it had been Mycroft that chose John. At his age, John must have put effort into remaining unbonded and would not have squandered it on the likes of Mycroft. His brother, meanwhile, was bound to demonstrate some taste on occasion.

Then John said they were not a together and had left Sherlock with other missing details besides. The omega was an interesting enough puzzle that he was still on Sherlock’s mind a few days later when Lestrade mentioned there would be no suitable assistance at the crime scene. But Sherlock now knew the location of a perfectly serviceable aid, with helpful medical knowledge and a high tolerance for violence and its aftermaths. He had made John laugh. The man might not be opposed to joining him. Just this once. And after Sherlock would be able to close the file on John Watson, a second pass being more than enough to collect the outstanding details that kept Sherlock temperately intrigued.

∙ ∙ ∙

John and Mycroft had been silently enjoying their respective books by the large lounge widow when Mycroft’s phone flashed.

“Ah, John, forgive me, but we are about to be paid a visit by my brother. Unusual, and doubtful he is here to thank you for your services the other day. If you wouldn’t mind excusing us.”

“Not at all.” 

John headed out of the room and crossed paths with the younger Holmes in the hall. 

“Hello John, good to see you again.”

“Same, and Mycroft’s waiting for you, just through there,” John gestured, expecting to step past Sherlock, but the latter forestalled him with a little scowl.

“I don’t care where he is. I came to ask, if you are not busy, and you aren’t—you’ve read that book at least twice before, the pattern of wear is clear—would you assist on my current case?”

Why would he need assistance? “What’s the case?”

“Brother mine, this is a pleasant if unexpected visit. Please stop harassing my omega and do come join me.” John hadn’t noticed Mycroft step up behind him. 

Sherlock shot his brother an annoyed look, as if he had interrupted a deeply private conversation. “You are only tied to him by a legal technicality. And I didn’t come here to speak with you.”

This ruffled the elder Holmes. “Then why are you here?” John doubted anyone got the drop on Mycroft regularly and was entertained to see that Sherlock had managed it.

“I cannot imagine why that would be your business. John, shall we? The cab is waiting.”

Mycroft frowned. “You have plenty of resources at your disposal, there is no need for you to bother John.” 

“I don’t mind.” John dropped in, though he suspected his opinion didn’t matter. Sherlock however looked triumphant. “Excellent, there you go. We must be off.”

“I am charged with John’s welfare, as we well know you are not. I do not know if I approve of you absconding with him.”

Sherlock dismissed that. “John, you have survived battle, yes? Do you think a crime scene crawling with police on a Sunday afternoon in London is likely to be too taxing for you?”

John’s smirk was unappreciated by Mycroft and Sherlock looked especially smug when he followed it up with, “I think I can stay out of trouble for a few hours. I’ll just get my coat then, shall I?” and slipped off before Mycroft could stop him. Mycroft might be worried that John was going to spoil his bondmate schemes, but John wouldn’t break his word, and wasn’t tempted to. He was just curious to see what this consulting detective did on a case. Besides Sherlock didn’t seem the type to hassle him.

He returned to find the brothers glowering at each other in mutual silence. 

As they walked out the of front door, John chanced a glance back at Mycroft, who had fixed them with a penetrating look. Not a nice thing to be on the receiving end of, and John couldn’t gather what conclusion he’d come to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't look at me like that, you knew I wasn't above using 1984 shamelessly.


	6. The First Case

Their destination was a London School of Economics’ student housing complex in Butler’s Wharf, accurately decked with the police of Sherlock’s description. Any lingering apprehension John felt about the alpha’s intents dissipated, permanently. One of the officers, however, was not of the same mind as John. 

“What is this, freak? A hot spot for courting? And how did you trick this one into joining you?”

“The name is John, actually. And I volunteered. If you’ll excuse us, Sherlock’s been asked to consult here.” He marched past her under the police tape and Sherlock had to feign an air of expecting nothing less, while Donovan scowled in surprise. Sherlock sidled up to match John’s pace, and the latter whispered, “Thank god you didn’t stay to chat with her. I have no idea where I’m going.” That drew a smile from Sherlock, who thought his recruit was doing very nicely so far. 

“Sherlock, who’s this? You know it’s bad enough I let you in here, you can’t bring guests.”

“Dr. Watson isn’t a guest, Lestrade, he’s an experienced medical opinion and I need his input. You’ve saddled me with the likes of Anderson, what else was I supposed to do?”

“John Watson, pleased to meet you. Lestrade, I take it?” John said, offering his hand. 

Lestrade hesitated only a moment before taking it with an exasperated, “Greg Lestrade. And Detective Inspector, not that you’d know from the way this one acts. Right, come on then, let’s keep this quick.”

They pulled on appropriate sanitary garb and Lestrade ushered them up several flights of stairs and into a common area bordered by five minuscule bedrooms. Inside each, a standard bed, desk, wardrobe, and sink were all so tightly packed it reminded John of Tetris. 

Lestrade directed them to the shared shower room and explained, “These are the quarters for LSE’s international graduate students. And this,” he gestured to the prone figure on the tiled floor, “is our victim, twenty-five-year-old beta, Ramone Ricci, of New Jersey, according to the school’s records. Hang on a mo.”

Lestrade stepped away to speak with a crime tech who had appeared on the landing, which gave John the chance to privately ask Sherlock, “Right, what medical advice I’m I meant to provide for this corpse then?”

“Whatever you can manage. Anything to make Anderson look bad.”

John gave him a look, and Sherlock nodded toward the body, “What do you see?”

He looked at Sherlock skeptically but obeyed. He wasn’t the expert. “Cause of death was probably blood loss, based on the size of this pool, and those stab wounds aren’t superficial. It’s weird he doesn’t have defensive marks.” John took a knee to feel the neck and jaw of the body. “Rigor mortis has only just started to set in here, but not at the torso yet, so he’s only been dead a few hours.” He looked up at Sherlock, “How long does it take the police to get set up? He must have been found relatively soon after the attack.”

“Indeed John, and a perfectly sound analysis, though you’ve missed the crucial parts. There were two killers, one with a gun, and we certainly know none of the people living on this floor are guilty.”

“How can you tell?”

“A crime of passion from one of these academics would have been a struggle, but as you say there are no defensive wounds, not even tentative cuts to his chest, only these deep incisions. If they had lived here, once their adrenaline subsided, they would have panicked, used the shower to try to clean up, but there’s been no attempt made, not even to rinse the blood down the drains.”

“And how do you know one had a gun?” John prompted.

“It’s how they got him into the shower. He is nude but has none of his bathing supplies. He was forced in here at gunpoint and was so focused on the gun, he probably didn’t see the knife. Three deep, confident cuts in quick succession from the other assailant would have surprised him before he had time to fight and were enough to make him bleed out while the gunman kept him from running.” 

“That’s brilliant.”

“Do you know you do that out loud?”

“Right, sorry, I’ll shut up.”

“No, it’s…fine.” Sherlock had been trying not to look pleased, and let it slip for a moment. But the expression was gone in an instant as the crime tech and DI approached the pair of them. 

“Must have been one of the other students. Tension from living in close quarters, and they attacked him while he was getting in the shower- Oh. Hello, there. I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” The crime tech was giving John an unnecessary looking over. 

“I thought this was your place of work, Anderson, little pride though you can take in such. Try to be a professional and put in a minimum effort before stating inaccuracies. This murder was committed by a team of professional killers, not a short-tempered economist. Also, quit ogling John, he’s assessing the level of your incompetence and doesn’t need distractions.”

“Sherlock,” John said, ignoring Anderson entirely. “I think you should look at this. He’s had something identifying taken off his inner arm, maybe a tattoo, and its healed over. It must have been on purpose, the lines are too clean, and removing this much skin would have called for grafts, but he clearly hasn’t had any.”

Anderson frowned, “What are you talking about?”

“See, this right here?” John pointed out and looking at Sherlock. “Maybe he was trying to hide something that they could use to ID him?”

Sherlock paused and gave a slight nod. “A good observation, John. Likely a tattoo affiliating him with the gangster who sent his killers. Though not to protect his identity. The tattoo was removed to mark his break with the mob, and his killers were sent to punish him for trying to walk away. That also explains them forcing him to undress and come into the shower. They wanted to see the proof of his treachery.” He turned to the DI. “Lestrade, please note it is possible to find capable people, and stop your weak defenses of Anderson’s idiocy.”

“I’m right here!”

“Yes, and therein lies the misfortune. John, we can take our leave now.” He strode off with purpose and John had to hasten to follow him. 

Sherlock had long legs and John hadn’t quite caught up by the time he was at the scene perimeter. The rude officer from earlier caught John’s arm as he tried to pass her. “How do you know Sherlock Holmes?”

John pulled free. “We’re colleagues.”

“Does that really mean you’re a court ordered sponsor?”

“No, it doesn’t, but as you’re clearly not a fan I don’t see why it would matter to you.”

“Just stay away from him. He’s dangerous.”

John raised his eyebrows and she pressed on. “He’s not paid to be here you know. He does it for fun. Because he’s a psychopath.”

“He just pointed your boss in the direction of a man’s killers.”

“And he only did that because he’s bored. But that won’t always be enough for him, so stay away.”

He now had to sprint to catch the object of their conversation.

“Donovan warned you off then.” Sherlock accurately surmised when they were back in step.

“Yeah, shame about her personality. She told me you were dangerous and asked if I was your sponsor.” He chuckled at the idea. “But I have serious doubts you’d need the lat-” He trailed off at the piercing look on the other’s face. “No way.” 

“Shut up,” Sherlock spat.

“Alcohol?”

“No, and I’ve been clean for years. She only knows about it because they like to spring drug busts on me if I annoy them too much.”

“Right. Well clean is good. Can’t say I fancy dealing with more active addicts in my life.”

“Yet hearing I was dangerous wasn’t an issue for you.”

John considered a moment. “No, dangerous isn’t a problem.”

“Good, because we have a lead to follow.”

∙ ∙ ∙

It was several hours later when John burst through the door of the warehouse to tackle the Mafioso’s armed henchman, while Sherlock contorted his arm to free his own bindings. When he had the threat subdued, John looked at Sherlock. “You were supposed to go easy with your stitches,” he pointed out, mildly annoyed.

“And you were supposed to stay out of trouble,” Sherlock retorted.

John nodded at the fair point. “At least we’re equally noncompliant then.” 

They’d ended up giggling like school boys while they waited for the police, John affectionately called him an idiot, and Sherlock felt a strong buzz. As John inspected the stiches, Sherlock decided that the man’s presence was helpful. He was handy in a pinch and it was easier to push oneself if there was someone to impress. Someone who could appreciate his skill. It truthfully hadn’t taken longer than leaving Mycroft’s home for Sherlock to admit he was disposed toward the omega, puzzle pieces aside. By the time night was falling, and they were walking through the city, talking easily, Sherlock knew he liked the man. 

They stopped, so John could buy a kebab from a street vendor. 

“None for you?” John was offering to buy him dinner. Thoughtful. 

“No, don’t eat on a case.”

“Case is over, and we’ve been at it for hours, aren’t you starving?”

“No, just transport.” They continued the stroll.

“Transport has the ring of an interesting explanation.”

“Not one of my better one’s unfortunately. Simply my body and its redundant, inefficient needs. I do what I must to keep it functioning, but no more. I can go days with out food or sleep. Or speaking.”

John chuckled darkly at that. “You’re a doctor’s worst nightmare. I’m fighting the impulse to sneak bits of kebab in you somehow. Or an IV line, which I think I could manage.”

“You sound like my landlady.”

“Then I like her already.”

Why that made Sherlock grin, he did not know. “You’ve met her, when you came to see my injury.”

“Oh, so I know I like her. It’s just the two of you there? You don’t have a mate?”

“No. Not really my area.” John tried not to look surprised and likely failed. He hadn’t smelled anyone on Sherlock, but he knew other omegas that would give up a kidney to mate with anyone who looked like this. 

“Like food?” 

“Precisely. Unnecessary, distracting.”

“Oi, food is necessary, quit tempting me to force feed you. But you don’t date or court at all, then?”

“I sometimes must fake it for a case, but no, the whole thing, sentiment, mating, and the like.” He waved a hand as if to dismiss the silly notions. “I don’t engage in such.”

“Oh, right. Well that’s fine.” John replied a little awkwardly.

“And you? As Mycroft has thankfully been ruled out.”

John huffed a laugh. “He’s currently hunting for his replacement. Seems like a perfectionist, though, I doubt it will a terrible option.” 

“But you resent the prospect.”

“What? Oh, no it’s-” John coughed. “I just, in the past I’ve mostly dated betas. Always tried to avoid getting courted by alphas. Wouldn’t bond at all if I could help it.” 

“Yes, most omegas don’t put it off as long as you have by accident. Or at all. Your army training would have helped counteract the issue of your scent.”

John smiled. “It definitely refined my technique. Plus, the suppressants and birth control they give you are top notch. Calmed things down, thank god. Secondary school was a nightmare for that, was like a fog horn before I was medicated.”

“Then why are you allowing Mycroft to select someone for you?”

“Allow is a strong word. He legally can do whatever he wants. But I agreed not to run if my conditions are met. Which makes anyone he picks a step up, from- well, what I was facing.” He didn’t really want to share the details “Let’s just say it wasn’t ideal with my last alpha, your brother helped by stepping in, taking my papers, so now he gets to pick the next one.” 

“The conditions?”

“They let me stay enlisted.”

“You should have leveraged for more.”

“Baring abuse, what more is there?” Ultimately, they would own him, and for John, a cage was going to be a cage, no matter who held it. The next stage of his life was all about managing expectations. “They’re all going to want the same thing, give or take, and I care about my career.” He shrugged, taking another bite of kebab. “It’s not that I can’t be attracted to alphas, even if I don’t want a relationship with one. The kind I attract are tossers, though hopefully Mycroft’s choice won’t be my usual ‘type.’ The one before Mycroft, Victor, was a bastard, but only an extreme example of a common trend for me.”

Sherlock was rapidly contextualizing some of his information, as these things could not be a coincidence, and somewhat pointlessly responded, “And these prefer your demeanor to the traditional omega personality?”

“Basically. You know the classic set up. Most alphas want to come home to someone submissive. I can’t play act at that, never could or wanted to, which is naturally a turn off. But there’s a type of alpha who goes for pushback. Loves the idea they managed to pin down a challenge. Absolute gits, usually idiots.” He smirked at Sherlock, “Well, more than the average population, by your standards. Anyway, I draw ‘em like flies.” 

“Interesting you would so enjoy your military life if you don’t like being bossed around by alphas.”

“It’s not the orders that bother me, not from a competent leader. It’s the ownership. And civilian alphas don’t have you shoot, or travel, or generally do interesting and dangerous things.” John came up short at that, thinking over the last few hours with Sherlock. “You’re one of the rare exceptions, but then I suppose that’s the case generally for you.”

Sherlock felt rather proud at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the case was weak, but I have reasons for saving a study in pink. Also, my complete lack of planning for the chapter titles is starting to catch up with me. I think I'll have to go back and redo them.
> 
> *Edit: Chapter titles have been revamped. This means very little but is a load off my mind.


	7. The Waiting Days

They fell into a routine comfortably and quickly after the first night, with little discussion about it. John worked his shifts at the military center, but in his free time would help Sherlock on cases. It wasn’t as though John could fill his spare time dating betas anymore, like he normally would when stationed home, and Sherlock was fascinating, frustrating, and utterly dazzling to be around. It wasn’t a bad trade off in John’s mind. After cases, they would often get dinner, as John liked to see Sherlock was eating, though tonight they had grabbed take away to have at Sherlock’s flat. It was his second visit there and John decided it was a cozy, quirky place with character, though he quite wanted to tidy it. 

“This skull is real.”

“Indeed, John. Why does this host not notice the clear markers of shared linage? The shoes alone could tell you they are half-sisters, whatever the mother says.”

John turned back to see the offender on the screen. “I warned you it was shit telly before I put it on, don’t get too invested.”

Sherlock made another outraged remark which brought a chuckle from John as he packed away the leftovers. A moment later he nearly dropped them when he opened the fridge. He closed it again. Processing. And opened it once more. 

“Sherlock, why is there a human foot in your fridge?”

“Experiment John, don’t disrupt it.”

“Where did you get it?”

“The morgue. The registrar there is very understanding of the need for scientific research.”

“Which means you bullied them. This-” did he have an adequate word? “is unsanitary, Sherlock. You can’t keep this in with your food.”

“I rarely use it for food, it is a non-issue.”

John held up the leftovers as a counterpoint. 

“Toss them. Less important than the foot.”

The leftovers were tasty and shouldn’t be wasted. John finished them himself and then caved, grabbing supplies from under the sink and set about exerting his will for cleanliness on the rest of the flat since the fridge was off limits.

∙ ∙ ∙

John thought if he kept track, he would find he spent more time on Baker Street than at Mycroft’s. The brothers didn’t get along and though Sherlock was happy to collect John he wouldn’t loiter. Mycroft had decided he was unperturbed by the new state of affairs, so long as John availed himself when called, and that was rare enough to be manageable. He did try to bribe John to report on Sherlock, which earned him some well worded insolence from his omega but no information on his brother.

It was Bill who made John start the blog. “I redeploy before you do, you berk, and if you get to do interesting things while stationed home, I want to be able to read about it in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere.” John thought that was a fair point, and it wasn’t like he ever said no to Bill. Reading his comments would make the effort absolutely worth it, anyway.

Their current case had led them to the morgue at St. Bart’s, where John was pleasantly surprised to reconnect with his old classmate, Mike Stamford, and meet Molly Hopper, the source of the foot. Her perfectly demure nature did make John feel a little inadequate; she was just such a model omega. Still, she was charmingly awkward, clearly of the kidney sacrificing variety where it came to Sherlock, and smelled light and sweet (like lemon drizzle, if you could compare a person’s scent to such a thing) which John thought appealing. He liked her almost at once, though he would have been hard pressed not to feel a kinship with any other unbonded omega in their shared field.

However, Molly’s heart dropped. Who was this omega Sherlock was being so nice to? Was Sherlock courting him? Did Sherlock prefer male omegas? Or just assertive ones? Either way she felt doomed.

John had to duck out of the case a bit early, as Mycroft had summoned him. This prompted some very entertaining remarks from Sherlock, but the case was basically over and John waved them off.

John arrived promptly at one of several impressive government buildings where he regularly met Mycroft. Behind him in the security queue, an alpha was talking loudly on his phone, and John was close enough to hear both sides of the conversation (a boon to national security this one is). John didn’t step forward though, lest he crowd the beta in front of him, and once through the machines, he joined the others flocking onto the lift. 

John tapped open a new message from Sherlock as he waited for his floor to arrive, and nearly started when he felt the pressure on his arse. He didn’t want to cause a scene, so he shifted to dislodge the contact (not necessarily groping, the lift was crowded, he wouldn’t make assumptions), and gave a half look behind him hoping for an innocent cause. It was the sort of thing Bill would do if they were in the same place and John hadn’t noticed him, the lovable git, but no such luck. The alpha from the queue was behind him and his hand returned, more firmly, to its place on John. Right, sod this. John was plotting his retaliation when they arrived at Mycroft’s floor. He sighed. The prat wasn’t worth it, John needed to behave, and he shouldered past the lift’s other occupants. But the man followed him. 

John ignored the stranger, and resolved to take a roundabout path, not wanting to be tailed to Mycroft’s office. But he didn’t get the chance. The man gabbed John’s arm, stopping him as soon as they were clear of the lift area. “Slow down there, you pretty thing, you’ve been riling me up since the queue.” 

John hated when alphas called him that. He didn’t know why they did it, but hypothesized they were only programed to dish six rote phrases. John was many things and he didn’t think pretty was one of them.

“Right, I think you’re confused. This is an office building, not a club. So please keep your hands to yourself.” He said it evenly and pulled his arm from the other’s grasp. 

The mans smiled flirtatiously, “If that’s what you don’t like, then we can meet somewhere more appropriate. I’ll even take you to dinner first.”

“Not interested, thanks.”

The alpha still looked too pleased with himself. “Don’t answer so fast. I’m a powerful person, and I could show you a good time.”

John couldn’t tell if he was meant to be threatened or intrigued but was successfully irritated. John didn’t like the suggestion that his answer was negotiable. 

“I’ve met powerful gits before, and they didn’t impress me by feeling me up.” John was keeping his tone calm, because if this was his usual flavor of alpha, raising his voice was only like to spur him on. John set his shoulders back, firm but not a pugnacious. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he brushed past the man. 

John quickly zigzagged his way through the now familiar wind of corridors and cubicles. It had been the mature thing to do, stop the escalation before he had a proper excuse to strike back. He was walking past a glass walled conference room when a hand touched his elbow. He turned, stupidly expecting Anthea, but it was the strange alpha again, who was now pressing him against the glass, nosing at his neck. “You didn’t even give me your name. Bad way to play hard to get.”

John shoved the man back. “Look, I said I wasn’t interested, and I’m not playing games.” John’s already insubstantial patience was wafer thin, and he was forming a fist, before invoking his new patron saint, Molly Hooper. He was sure she never threw fists to deal with alphas, and she’d managed just fine in life so far.

But it was for naught. He snapped when another grope was made of his arse and John kicked out the back of the alpha’s knee before folding him into a choke hold. Just as the stranger slipped from consciousness, John heard his own name. He carefully lowered the figure to the floor, and faced Mycroft, unabashed. He was glad he hadn’t punched the stranger though, or he would currently look like a Neanderthal.

“Explain.”

“He was being a bit pushy.”

“I see.”

A horrible thought occurred to John. “Oh god, please don’t tell me this was the alpha you wanted me to meet.”

“No, luckily Mr. Elliot is not on my list, so I will excuse your lapse of composure. Now, if you will follow me, I would like to introduce Erica Valencia.”

“Oh, right. Should I do something with this one?” he gestured at the figure on the ground. 

“No, you may leave him.”

∙ ∙ ∙

Two months slipped by without John realizing it. None of Mycroft’s candidates had made a second appearance and John found himself surprisingly happy with the status quo, though he knew it couldn’t last. 


	8. The Colonel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft finds his choice.

Their first meeting was very brief, barely handshake and passing introduction before Mycroft sent John off with some request. It was just a chance for Sebastian Moran to get a proper evaluation before he made any commitments. Mycroft didn’t need to tell John that Moran was a candidate. As always, (saving the technical exception) the doctor was firm, warm, and polite. A perfect gentleman, and Moran was likewise sensible enough not to make any aggressive come-ons, but Mycroft saw the Colonel was attracted. 

Mycroft remembered the fleeting kindness he had considered, to give John to his brother, but no. While the pair had gotten on oddly well, Mycroft had needed something extra to recruit the sniper to the Secret Intelligence Service, and Moran was an excellent choice of bondmate. A former military man himself, Moran was very inclined toward John’s continued career, and Mycroft’s detailed background checks raised no flags for mistreatment. The alpha was also physically acceptable, welt built, with auburn hair, and grey eyes; the desire shouldn’t be difficult for John to muster. Moran was unbonded, dangerously capable, and other factions had been looking to add him to their ranks, but Mycroft swept in with the perfect offer to entice him. He would be an invaluable addition to the SIS, and with the track laid, Mycroft might be able to recruit John down the line as well, when it was truly time for his retirement from the army. 

“Who are his other suitors?”

“My list of candidates is confidential I’m afraid, but none have interacted more than you just did. I have not allowed courting from the others, and I hope I won’t need to, now that you have met him.”

“Then who is the alpha I smelled on him?”

“Ah, while it may be one of his patients or brothers in arms, I suspect you are picking up traces of my younger brother, Sherlock. My brother is a private detective and has been using the good doctor’s medical knowledge to assist with cases for Scotland Yard.”

Moran gave him a guarded look. “You’ve been letting your brother romp around with him?”

“Harmlessly. My brother is not interested in biological matters. I assure you, Captain Watson remains fully unattached. You are free to ask him yourself. Or my brother for that matter.”

Moran made an uncommitted sound. 

“I did tell you of Captain Watson’s willfulness. He is not a submissive omega. I was under the impression that you found such characteristics attractive.”

Moran nodded, almost unconsciously. 

“Should I continue seeking other partners for him then?”

Moran looked irritated. “Are you reneging on our agreement?”

“Have you decided you do not desire Watson as a mate?”

Moran huffed out a laugh at that. “Hardly, Holmes. I’m just wondering what sort of mess this is going to be when your little brother decides he wants his borrowed omega back. And I don’t fancy the wrath I’m like to face from you when I need to teach your brother the meaning of boundaries, since you clearly haven’t.” Sebastian was of a height with Mycroft, and physically capable of instilling such lessons. 

Mycroft resisted the urge to bristle. This was classic alpha preening and he needn’t rise to it. Moran was an asset and his concerns needed to be diffused. “I understand you do not trust in my brother’s intentions, but if it offers you any comfort, the captain is remarkably capable of defending himself from unwanted advances. I have witnessed this myself, though not on the receiving end. Given his life of evading aggressive suitors, and his near entrapment by a practical vagabond, I do not believe my brother could have gained Watson’s assistance had there been anything untoward. Watson’s history shows it would have put the him completely off. I understand he merely enjoys having companionship free of overtures for once.”

That did seem to mollify the Colonel slightly, and Mycroft pressed on. “As you are positively inclined toward John’s appearance, perhaps we might discuss your courting him before the transfer.”

Moran lightened further at that. “Yes, I would like to have a proper meal with him. A private one.”

∙ ∙ ∙

Sebastian was glad he knew to play this smart. He would start off approaching John like a colleague, not a lover. Otherwise he might earn a right hook, and word was John’s was mean. But if Sebastian had a real skill, it was patience.

“Captain, it is a pleasure to see you again.” Oh, there was the winning smile. He wanted more of those. 

He dove into the military connection with gusto, recounting his own tales, asking the omega about his service, and warmly inquiring about the soldier’s ambitions. It was amazing how quickly it relaxed him, to play on shared home turf. They worked their way through the lunch with ease.

“Sounds like you’re in a good position to have a long, successful career, Captain. It frustrates me to think you might have been prevented from pursuing it.”

“Thank you, sir. And please, call me John.”

“If you’ll extend the same courtesy.”

John crooked his mouth in a half smile. “However you like it.” 

Sebastian liked hearing those words on John’s lips. 

He decided to take the plunge. “Obviously, I’ve heard a lot about you from Mycroft Holmes. I know I’m not the only one he’s spoken with. He’s been moving your name around the right circles, getting bites, though it took me a while to get the full picture. When Mycroft explained your predicament, I confess, I was curious. Though I hope you know that by now.” He let his tongue wet his bottom lip subtly before going on. “I’d be equally curious to know what you would think about me taking over the, ah, relationship you have with Mycroft. Permanently.”

“So long as you let me stay in the RAMC, I’m open to anything.”

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t.”

“Naturally you would get my pension.”

“Not interested in that. My civilian work has been lucrative, and as I said, I’m planning to take an offer with the SIS very soon, which will also pay handsomely.”

John looked a little stiff as he said, “You want children, then.”

“Not really. I’m open to the preferences of my omega, of course, but I’ve never seen myself as much of family man. Course, my own father left it up to my mother, and ended up enjoying the role, so maybe I could change. But no, don’t care about keeping up the family line.”

“So, your interest in this-”

“Is you, yes. I have a very demanding work life, as do you. I appreciate the prospect of being with someone who could relate to my field and wouldn’t mind frequent, sometimes long separations. If you are interested, I think this could work. I would want to take things slow, but yes, that is my intent.”

He was very pleased to note that no scent of threat was coming off John. Maybe Mycroft was right, and the thing with the younger Holmes was just platonic. That soothed his instincts considerably. “Unless you are planning to stay with Mycroft,” he added to prompt a reply. 

“No,” John said quickly, “That- it isn’t that sort of set up. He’s just holding my papers. You know the situation; my CO requested his help when my sister- I think he means to cash in the favor from him, and me, someday. But he’s acted like a sibling and made it clear from the first that he wouldn’t be keeping me.”

“Are you bothered by that?”

“No, I wouldn’t want him to be my alpha,” John said with undisguised vehemence. “Though I did like the independence.”

“Well, I’m glad to know you have better taste than Mycroft Holmes,” Sebastian said with a sincere smile. “And I don’t want to sound like a salesman, but I pretty much guarantee independence. I’m gone for stretches at a time and you usually won’t know what country I’m in. But I’m thinking that won’t bother you.”

“And when we are in the same country?”

“You can move into my flat, here in London. And otherwise, we will take it slow.”

John gave him a careful look. “And what level of deference do you expect from your omegas when they are with you, exactly?”

That made Sebastian chuckle. “Mycroft didn’t whitewash your character when he described you, John. He described a fighter, and I liked what I heard.” He allowed himself to give John a look up and down that clearly said he liked what he saw too. “A quivering wallflower is not what turns me on.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I want someone who can keep up. That means a partner, not a trinket.”

Tamped down approval practically radiated off John, but physically he only gave a nod, and fell into silence, gazing at the scenery unseeing, but Sebastian thought it was going well. John was open to the match and Sebastian had to fight the impulse to press his advantage, to lock the other man down. Not that John had much say, given Mycroft wanted it to go through, but everything in his body wanted to win him over. He even considered telling John he could keep helping the Yard but couldn’t quite stomach that concession yet. He might allow it but wasn’t going to make any promises he couldn’t keep. Once they’d mated, he’d feel better about the situation with the brother.

“Don’t decide anything yet. Think on it, and in the meantime, can I book you for another date? It’s critical I learn your taste in steak and have a place in mind to test you.”

John crooked a small smile. “Sure, that would be nice.”

“Good.”

∙ ∙ ∙

When he got home, Sebastian masturbated furiously to the thought of John beneath him. The man’s smell was pure heaven and he could easily get drunk on it. He could barely wait to see him in heat, off his suppressants.

Sherlock Holmes must be an idiot, whatever the boss said. He’d have to request something interesting as a thank you to the man for his utter failure to make a claim.

∙ ∙ ∙

“You know my brother is benefiting from this.”

“Yeah I figured as much. He hardly seems like one for charity work. But I don’t begrudge him that. Moran doesn’t have many demands, and at least he’s not terrible like Victor, so I’m grateful to Mycroft. I even get to keep my full pension. Can keep Harry in her flat in town because of that.”

“What if he’s boring?”

“Then I’ll be glad to have my deployments. Better than being stuck with someone like that year-round.”

“I don’t think you need an alpha.”

The fondness crinkled over John’s face. “Ta for that. You’re the only one of them who does. But that’s life as an omega for you. I should have known I couldn’t put it off forever. At least this one pretended I had a choice. That’s better than loads of people get.”


	9. The Transfer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A respectable one, for once.

John was present, conscious, and smartly outfitted in a suit of Mycroft’s choosing for the transfer, as these things were conventionally done. In keeping with similar, formal tradition, John would return with Mycroft that evening, and not move in with Sebastian until the end of the week. The practice arose from the time and threat of bayonet transfers and was considered a civil way of demonstrating that the affair was above board. 

John was curious to see the space where Victor should have signed giving him to Mycroft. He had wondered if it would be blank, but all it bore was a very official looking government stamp, similar to the one next to Harry’s name when she’d been next alpha of kin. Idiots romanticized the legality. _Has he taken your line then? A third line match is never lucky. Only a problem child gets past the second line._ When this was over, John would be on his fifth line—first had been his father, may that bastard rot in hell, then Harry, Victor, same sentiments, Mycroft, and now Sebastian. The form only had six lines, so John wondered what proper society would call him for that. _Troublemaker_ , probably, if they were feeling kind, which people rarely were when it came to things like this. 

The alphas efficiently made their marks and the three adjourned for a festive dinner, far swankier than any John would have chosen. He ended the evening with a warm handshake from Sebastian.

In the car ride home with Mycroft, John received a text from Sherlock.

      [ Update on the money laundering case for  
        the 24-hour café. I need you to interview a  
        waitress named Jenny currently on shift as  
        soon as possible while I follow up on another  
        matter. Meet me at NSY when you are done.  
        -SH ]

      [ Do I have time to change clothes? ]

      [ No -SH ]

John rolled his eyes. “Mycroft, Sherlock wants help with a case, claims it’s urgent. I promise not to ruin the suit.”

Mycroft was reading his phone and waved John off without concern.

∙ ∙ ∙

“You sold him then.”

Mycroft looked up from his desk to find his younger brother skulking around the shadowed corners of his home office. How was he always so quiet? “Do come in Sherlock. As always, a pleasure to see you. I thought you were meeting John at a crime scene. Rude of you to stand him up.”

Sherlock lurked moodily, refusing to reply. Mycroft chewed on his annoyance. “And if you are referring to the transfer, yes, I successfully found John a suitable alpha. As I know he already told you.”

“Who.”

“Retired Colonel Sebastian Moran, which again I’m sure John said. As with all things I put my mind to, I excelled at matchmaking. Moran is respected, well paid, and very supportive of John’s military career.”

Sherlock spit out a derisive sound. “Until he decides his own legacy is more important and forces John to retire and have his brats.”

“Colonel Moran does not want children.”

This didn’t seem to placate Sherlock, who, as always, was itching for a fight.

“Why him.”

“I just listed his qualities, have you forgotten so quickly.” 

“Surely there are some ancient alphas available in that bumbling monstrosity you call a government. Ones who wouldn’t mind having a moderately interesting omega around to listen to their prattle.”

“Yes, the elderly have such progressive views on headstrong omegas. Don’t be an idiot. You wouldn’t want to subject John to such a fate. I thought you liked the man.”

“They could die promptly, and John would be free. That would be a very pleasant fate. He wouldn’t even need to be bonded, emancipation doesn’t require it.”

“Generous of you to help strategize possible suitors now that one has been found, brother mine. And don’t be ridiculous, John is a desirable omega. Any match unwilling to bond with him would be courting disaster. What safety does an alpha provide to a man like John Watson if not a permanent deterrent to other aggressors? Only scenting him is hardly very useful once he’s off on the front lines.”

“John’s managed that before.”

“Yes, and it was a foolishly vulnerable position I do not mean to see replicated.” 

“They’ll have to mate to form the bond mark.”

“That is how basic biology works, Sherlock. Why are you wasting my time with this?”

“Does John even like him?”

“An excellent question for _John_ , I think. Though I doubt he knows yet, they’ve barely met.”

“Not like it matters what he thinks, once you made up your mind. He could hardly stop you from giving him away to any idiot.”

Mycroft exhaled his frustrations. This tantrum held strong echoes of Redbeard. “I know you find this affair distasteful, Sherlock, but I have never had the intention of doing wrong by John. I have no reason to think my selection would mistreat him, or I would not have made the offer. You will recall, the previous option was Victor Trevor and I believe John felt nearly any choice would be preferable to that.”

“Better than Victor Trevor is hardly a high bar, Mycroft. Even you meet that.”

“Moran is many orders of magnitude better than the scoundrel John would have been trapped with if not for my intervention. Moran was chosen from a sizeable list of competitive candidates, I assure you.” 

“Selected after you decided he would be the most helpful to you. What is Moran giving you, in exchange for his prize?”

Mycroft debated denying it, but it was better to head off his brother’s curiosity. “He is taking a post with the SIS. He had competitive offers from other global agencies, and his skill set is very valuable. I will be able to keep a close eye on him, and John, and your nation will retain a very skillful asset.” Mycroft thought the entire endeavor had been so successful, he was considering setting up an off the books omega exchange system. John, after all, could hardly be the only one in such a predicament. He’d drafted a little piece of legislation that wouldn’t ruffle feathers but could give him an elegant legal loop hole to go ahead with such a thing, just in case.

“You’ll want John to join as well, when he leaves the army. His payment for your alleged help.”

“I have considered it, he would excel there. But I may find another need for him one day, so I am leaving my options open. And don’t feel left out. You know my offer for your employ there always stands. 

“Like I would ever volunteer to be under your thumb.” And with that, Sherlock spun on his heal and strode out of the office, leaving Mycroft no time for a parting shot.

∙ ∙ ∙

Sherlock arrived at the Yard before John, as he knew he would. When John finally showed up, Sherlock privately thought he looked rather handsome in his suit.

∙ ∙ ∙

“Major James Sholto on the line for you, sir”

Mycroft had been waiting for this call. “Thank you, please put him through.” After the click, he began, “Hello Major Sholto, it is good to hear from you.”

“And you as well Mr. Holmes. Watson told me about his transfer.”

“I’m glad he has kept you abreast of the situation. Yes, Colonel Moran is very supportive, it should be a successful match.”

“Moran? As in Sebastian Moran?”

“The very same.”

There was an unexpected pause from the other line. “Well, it is good to hear that he supports Watson’s career.”

The chat was brief and unexceptional, but when he rang off, Mycroft pondered a moment over Sholto’s hesitation. Perhaps the Major was simply annoyed that he’d had no say in John’s alpha. Whatever the reason, Mycroft earmarked the memory in his mind palace. Just in case.

∙ ∙ ∙

Sherlock spent the days following the transfer feeling restless, so he stole a copy of Moran’s military records and acquired a crossbow because Mrs. Hudson hid his harpoon.

Mycroft should have consulted him on the candidates. He knew John better and was certain the alpha his cow of a sibling picked was the wrong choice. He looked boorish from the service photos and was too tall for John. The entire situation was moronic. John would be made to mate with a stranger to protect him from having strangers try to mate with him. He should have stolen John’s papers from Mycroft and forged the signature of someone currently in the morgue. Why hadn’t he thought of that before they were out of Mycroft’s clutches?

∙ ∙ ∙

Moving in with Sebastian was notably less enigmatic than with Mycroft. Even so, when John broached the topic of continuing to work on cases, he hadn’t known what to expect. He was still going to do it, whatever Sebastian’s answer, but it would be easier if he had his new alpha’s approval. When John received it, he decided it was a good omen for the match

Over the first few weeks of living together, John learned that Sebastian wasn’t too controlling. They'd settled on John switching to pill suppressants, because John would never consider going completely off them, but could agree to have a heat every few months at a scheduled time. And as for his free time, it helped that Sebastian would leave for business every few days. He did want to be kept informed of John’s activities, which irked slightly. He also wanted to share meals with John when possible. Doable. And though John still slept in the guest room alone, Sebastian liked affections: putting his hand on the small of John’s back, touching John’s hand or knee, leaning in to whisper when not necessary, inhaling deeply as he did. That was fine. It was somewhat commendable, really. The eye-fucking and blatant lip licking that had begun during their first lunch made John wonder if the man had the restraint. But the behavior was not inappropriate given the circumstances and it was downright gentlemanly compared to some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the Hawaiian Queen Liliuokalani was forced at gunpoint to sign a constitution she opposed, and which limited her power as monarch, it became known at the Bayonet Constitution. This is where I got the term 'bayonet transfer' from. In this world, I imagine the term would have come to be in olden times, when transfers occurred under duress. Go read up on Liliuokalani, by the way, she's a fascinating person.


	10. Does Anyone Read the Chapter Titles?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd known this was coming

Fuck, it was all over him. Standing at the sink, John tried to rinse off the scents, but the effect was negligible. They were in his clothes, his hair, his sodding pores, it felt like. He wondered if it would look worse that he’d even tried to wash them off. Like he was attempting to hide. He growled at that. _I didn’t do anything wrong_. If Sebastian was going to blame him that wasn’t his problem. John took a deep breath. There was a stupid thought. It was his problem. A feral alpha was going to be a peach to deal with, cut off from reason and driven to a rage by their hormones, and his was built like a bloody ox.

The case had taken them through a packed club and truly, it could have been worse. Sherlock was in an uncharacteristic get up and had tried to bully John into wearing a v-neck as well. He said they would stick out if John showed up in his normal button down and jumper, but John had flatly refused. 

V-necks were common club attire as they did nothing to stifle one’s scent. They also made John look like a right prat, in his own opinion. The damn things might look flattering on people like Sherlock, but he also wouldn’t have to answer for the flock of omegas throwing themselves at him all night. John’s limited experience with the garment had only ever ended in one-sided heavy petting followed by violence. He sported a crewneck instead, paired with his highest collared coat. Even so, John received attention, and just for good measure, veritable bucket loads of pheromones tossed on him by alphas drunk enough to think that was a smart idea. 

He’d unfairly snapped at Sherlock for not scenting him as a preventive, when it was Sebastian he should have thought to ask before going out. Sherlock could, like everything thing with his transport, control his own scents in an almost robotic manner. He’d only begrudgingly scented John on other cases, when they were undercover, but that wasn’t his job anymore. Not that it ever had been.

∙ ∙ ∙

Returning to the flat that night, John felt the heat of his alpha behind him as soon as he got the front door closed. He set his jaw and turned, prepared to face an irate Sebastian.

“My, my, John. You’ve been driving alphas mad tonight, haven’t you?” Sebastian leered over him, nose brushing his hair as John stood with his back to the door. Not good for a retreat. 

“They’ve been acting like idiots as usual, no doing needed on my part,” John said, purposely sharp.

Sebastian gave a breathy chuckle and raised one hand to stroke John’s hip. 

“And you kept them at bay just fine on your own.” Sebastian inhaled. “I like it, smelling how many other people are desperate for you.”

The scents pouring over John were pleased, aroused, and a touch possessive but oddly not angry or feral. But John didn’t want to lower his guard. “Don’t alphas normally get worked up over this sort of thing?”

“I don’t mind. I know you’re mine. And they should be aching for you, if they have any sense.” His voice rumbled, “I know I am.”

John was surprised to feel himself flush. Sebastian cupped his jaw with his other hand and John kept his eyes and body defiant, but he hardly knew what for. The alpha didn’t seem about to attack or restrain him, even if this was more affectionate than normal.

“I want to kiss you John, have wanted to since I first laid eyes on you. But I’m not angling for a headlock.”

“Not like you couldn’t get out of it.”

“Not the point.”

John breathed, realizing what was about to happen. This was inevitable. Overdue. The fair deal he had agreed to. Sebastian had been clear and kept his word, so John would do the same. Fulfill his role as partner, not some fuck-toy to pity.

John placed his hand on the back of Sebastian’s neck, and pulled him in for the kiss. He closed his eyes as their lips touched.

∙ ∙ ∙

Sebastian’s torso felt heavy with the weight of his lust. It settled in his pelvis, radiating heat. The restraint of weeks was bearing down, and he could have taken John up against the door in a heartbeat. But he wanted to see his omega in real form, not frigid with defiance. He’d just begin the thaw in earnest tonight.

When John initiated the kiss, firm and insistent, Sebastian could have ignited from the approval of it. His soldier didn’t back down from a challenge, and he would come up with ways to leverage that. John’s hands were at his neck and waist pulling him in, closer, and Sebastian sunk into the heat of his mouth, the heaven of his scent, the skill of his tongue, until he had John fully pinned to the door. His own hands began roving, groping, till one was in John’s hair and the other cupped his arse. He’d need to put the brakes on this eventually, but his body screamed in retaliation at the thought. It was John who eventually pulled back to gasp out the word. “Couch?”

Sebastian grunted his assent, pressed back into John’s mouth, and put both hands on John’s arse and thighs, hoisting him up to carry him there. He was limiting himself to kissing for the night but wasn’t giving up valuable momentum by stopping when he could avoid it. If the move startled John, the man took it in stride, bearing his weight on Sebastian’s shoulders and hips while his tongue lavished the alpha’s mouth. 

Sebastian only took a moment to look at John when he dumped him on the couch, to take in the debauched state of him. Normally so unassumingly presentable, now with his hair and clothes disheveled, blood pounding, and lips wet, all because of him. All his. Sebastian dropped back over him and resumed his post, attacking his neck, _god this scent should be illegal_ , while pulling at John’s coat ineffectively. He was more focused on sucking that divine neck for everything he was worth, but John managed to roll them, straddling Sebastian a moment while he sat up to divest himself of the coat before leaning back into the kiss. Sebastian smiled against John’s lips and flipped him back into position. He loved to see his omega eager, but John could be on top some other time. Tonight, Sebastian wanted to control when they were done. 

Working their mouths together, Sebastian bore his own weight on his arms, while John caressed his chest. Sebastian liked that, but more desperately wanted to keep exploring John’s body himself. He didn’t hold out long before spreading his legs to take more of his weight and laying his torso against John. The position freed his hands and he set them to work greedily, pushing up John’s shirt to expose the wonderful expanse of skin there, while John’s thigh pressed into his groin. As they wrestled the friction felt fucking good, and Sebastian ground himself down against it. 

The blurred heat was growing, John’s scent was intoxicating, and the omega was meeting his pace with gorgeous ferocity. This was skidding past his planned limits of the night, and Sebastian’s considered restraint was slipping. He sacrificed one arm to support more of his weight so he could lift off John’s pelvis (lips never leaving that dangerously talented mouth) while the other hand made the dive for John’s trousers. He got John’s cock free with practiced speed and the omega pulled back with a gasp that could mean either thrill or alarm. John’s eyes flashed open and his hands quickly left their places at Sebastian’s back. One flew to stop Sebastian from pushing John’s pants and trousers completely off his hips, while the other struggled at Sebastian’s fly. Sebastian understood and redirected his hand to free his own aching prick. 

The omega grabbed their cocks together in one hand and oh god that felt good. Sebastian looked into John’s face, but his expressive eyes were closed again. Still, he enjoyed watching the pleasure play out there. John continued stroking them together, working his hips into the motion and, following his lead, Sebastian spit into his own palm and added his hand to the fray. Jesus, that was good. The precum and saliva were enough and soon Sebastian was working himself against their hands without restraint.

They fucked like this until, in a fit of need to feel John against him, no arms between them, Sebastian grabbed up his wrists and held them over his head, still thrusting wildly against John’s cock and stomach. The feel of John writhing under him, his scent, holding him there, finally having him, god yes, and he was coming, hard. Bliss and heat enveloping him fully. He kept John’s wrists pinned with one hand and quickly caught up their cocks again with the other to ride out his aftershocks and take John over the edge. It was thankfully slicker now with his own come coating them.

Watching John orgasm was damn sexy on its own and it could have finished Sebastian if he weren’t already spent. He’d have to make John come first next time. He released John’s wrists and leveraged his body off the other, wedging himself in the space between John and the back of the couch. He brought a hand to rest on John’s other side, ensuring he didn’t get pushed onto the floor. 

They lay there together for a moment, feeling the mutual high ebb, before Sebastian finally panted, “Where the fuck’d you learn to snog like that?” 

John just shrugged, eyes still closed, breathing hard. “Spent most of my life shagging betas. Can’t let your scent do all the work with them.”

It wasn’t funny, but it made Sebastian laugh. He couldn’t picture John lying back and letting anyone or anything do all the work, not after tonight. “If I’d known going in, I would have asked for a kiss the first night.”

That one made John laugh dryly. His eyes now cracked open, his disbelief plain. “Yeah, how would that have worked into taking things slow? I have doubts you would have settled for a kiss back then either.”

“Mhm,” Sebastian replied vaguely as he nuzzled his face into John’s neck. “Next time I want to see you naked.”

“Fair enough.”

∙ ∙ ∙

Later that night, after clean-up and showers, they retired to Sebastian’s bed (John’s days in the guest room were clearly over), and John was glad he’d managed to keep things from going fully off the rails.

He could put out like this on demand if he had to, and Sebastian hadn’t raised any objections to the fare of the evening, but it’d been a while since he’d had penetrative sex on the receiving end. Even longer since he’d had a heat. Christ had the last one been during med school? He sighed. With his new suppressants, that was coming eventually too. All in all, he needed more physical and mental prep time.

“So, you getting turned on by other people scenting me, is that going to be a problem when I need you to do it next time I’m undercover?”

Sebastian sighed with mock reluctance. “I don’t know. I also get turned on by the idea of you roughing other alphas up, and you might not get the chance if I scent you. But I can be persuaded. If you ask nicely.”

He leaned over in bed to kiss John, who gathered this was the preferred bargaining method. Which was fine. It was good Sebastian could be managed this way, and it helped keep the necking to a minimal. The real incentive for John’s learning to kiss correctly was keeping his partners’ mouths occupied. He preferred to preempt efforts to eat his scent off its source, as he was not a fan of the fallout above his collar line when partners were left to their own devices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have explained this in the last chapter notes for people not familiar with them, but I assume fictional suppressants are like real birth control, and have different forms with different characteristics. I'm a bad writer for clarifying in the notes instead of the story, but just know that for this world, shot suppressants, which John was on, are more like a hybrid of IUDs and shot birth control, in that they last long term without any heats.
> 
> Also, If you've read my other fic, Attention, you will know I have a bad habit of putting John in crewnecks, though I did write this chapter before that story.


	11. The Port of Tilbury

Sherlock did not enjoy scenting John. The purpose was to mark one’s territory, dissuade other alphas, but it left John smelling like Sherlock rather than himself. The notes of John’s own scent were very pleasant, and Sherlock did not relish stifling them. 

However, he found the presence of what could only be Sebastian Moran’s scent to be far more unwelcome still. Along with the marks on John’s neck. Sherlock felt something prickle him mentally. Together they walked toward the Port of Tilbury to follow up on the lead from the club and John did not appear injured or sore as he moved. It was possible from this evidence that Moran had only marked territory. Not that he’d forced John to mate to show his claim. Or as a punishment. The prickle sharpened. 

“Moran was angry then, about the club.”

John was confused a moment. “Oh, no. Not really, it wasn’t bad like I thought it’d be.”

Sherlock’s brows drew together. “It is clear-”

John cut him off. “Look, I know you like to point out when the police are shagging each other, but can you not, please? I know what happened, no deductions needed. He didn’t go feral or anything, didn’t even want me to stop going on cases so it’s fine.”

Sherlock was not satisfied by that response. “Did you want to sleep with him?” Part of Sherlock didn’t want to hear the answer. Moran was obviously a thug and if John had been forced, that would be unacceptable. If John’s answer was yes, then Sherlock didn’t need to learn about the man’s poor taste. Knowing what kind of telly he enjoyed was quite bad enough, even if Sherlock did deign to watch it with him.

“Uh, I don’t really think of it in those terms,” John said, hands deep in his pockets. “What’s the shipping terminal we’re looking for called again? London Container or something equally unhelpful, yeah?”

“In what terms do you think of it?” They came to a stop.

John scowled at him. “If I tell you, will you drop this, please?” Sherlock nodded. The information was oddly pressing to him. John sighed and looked anywhere but Sherlock as he went on, “It’s just another responsibility, and I don’t shirk my obligations. I wouldn’t say I want to write up charts either, but I still do them properly. Same with pulling Harry out of pubs at 2:00 in the morning. This is just one of my alpha duties. It has to get done either way and if he’s not going to be vicious, I’m not going to make it a fight. Then it can even feel nice.” 

Sherlock just stared at him, blankly. 

John couldn’t figure out how this discussion had lasted so long. “You said it yourself, it’s just transport, so I’m not going to get worked up over it. He wanted it and he asked me first. It was a mutual act. End of story.”

“He fetishizes you, and you tolerate it. That is not the same thing.”

John’s temper spiked. “Yeah, Sherlock, I know that. And that’s a damn sight better than the way other alphas react to me. At least he just gets off, rather than violently or psychotically trying to put me in my place beforehand.”

“You are reducing this to a false dichotomy.” 

“No, I just don’t need you putting this situation under a microscope. You are not an omega. No one will ever be able to turn your life upside down by signing a paper. So come off it. I won’t apologize to you or anyone else for holding up my end of an agreement and being glad things aren’t far worse than they could be.”

“When you choose to measure against the lowest possible bar-”

“It’s not a choice it’s my reality, Sherlock! I’ve seen what it looks like to be raped and trapped with the perpetrator. My only family nearly sold me into that. If Victor hadn’t gotten high the first night I was with him, who’s knows if I could have gotten out before he forced a bond. He wouldn’t have asked me first, wouldn’t have left me free to try to stop him. I’m not stupid. I know I can’t have everything I want, so I settled on what really matters to me, and yes, I’ve decided to be flexible with the rest. Not all of us can afford to be stubborn pricks all the time.” He jabbed his finger in Sherlock’s chest at the last comment. 

They’d come to their stop inside the limits of the docks. The sounds of water and birds filled their silence. Sherlock stayed quiet and John recomposed himself. Finally, the latter jerked his head toward the metal shipping containers. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Aren’t we supposed to be looking for clues here?”

They continued their walk and were near their goal before Sherlock spoke again, “You wouldn’t have been trapped with Victor. I would have freed you.”

John was baffled by that. “How do you work that out? We didn’t even know each other. I didn’t even know Mycroft back then.”

“But I’ve known, and despised, Victor since university.” Now it was Sherlock who couldn’t meet John’s eye. “We used to get high together.”

There was a small, sharp inhale from John. “You were the chemist he wanted?”

“I would have met you when I came to collect your blood.”

“How long have you known it was the same Victor? No, sod that, you would have agreed to help that filth bond me?”

“Since our first case, when you said his name. I didn’t know he had you there by force when he asked for my help. He said his new omega had very strong suppressants that needed to be lifted. I merely saw it as a challenging piece of chemistry.”

“So yes, you would have helped him.”

“Not once I met you. I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not.”

That stung

“I might have seemed too boring to you.”

“You are not boring.”

“Believe me when I say I wouldn’t have cut a very impressive figure tied to his floor. Are you done dragging through this shit with my alphas now?”

“But if Moran presents a sim-”

“It’s not like that, we have an understanding.”

“Do you like Moran, at least?”

“He’ll do. He’s what I’ve got. And we’re done with this conversation. Tell me what it is we’re looking for here, or I’m going home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charts are very important, and all doctors hate doing them. They are the notes doctors write for patient medical records and they are not the fun part of medicine. I have it on extremely good authority that they royally suck and take lots of time. I suspect John’s charts are beautiful and thorough, cause that is just how he copes with stuff he doesn’t want to do.
> 
> Also, I am unduly proud to tell you that London Container Terminal ltd is a real company located in the Port of Tilbury. #nonsponsored #johnneedsahug #iknowao3doesn'tusehashtags #thisiswhatyougetforreadingthenotes


End file.
